


Shackled

by Voido



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Torture, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prison / Assassin AU, Ryuji is a Good Boy, Slow Burn, akira is sly, explicit violence, let ryuji say fuck, so same as always
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-04-19 07:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14232627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voido/pseuds/Voido
Summary: Twelve months really aren't that bad, Ryuji figures. His cell is more like a dorm, and he'll be out soon enough. The treatment is fine, and it was worth it. After all, he's only been selling those goddamn drugs to help his mom. It's alright.That is, until he gets a roommate, one of the devious, sly kinds that you should avoid at every possible cost. From there on, things spiral downward, and soon enough, Ryuji finds himself thrown into the choice ofgo along or bite the dust.Just his casual kind of bad luck catching up to him.[currently discontinued]





	1. Resentment

**Author's Note:**

> Yo!  
> I was trying to keep this at bay, but really, I couldn't. I've had so many ideas about this it's not even funny anymore, and now they're all being put into this wonderful, terrible story that I hope you'll enjoy! First part is short, since it's meant to be some sort of prologue to the real thing. ;~;

_Shit could've gotten worse_ was always the one thing Ryuji kept telling himself whenever he got tired of his small room, the uncomfortable bed or the lack of being able to enjoy a good video game. He was locked away, sure, forced to live in a restricted place and supervised 24/7 in one way or the other, but at least he was alive, and knowing that he'd done all he could have to help. 

The door opened with a creak, and he forced himself to look away from the ceiling he'd been staring at, fully aware of why he was being bothered.

“I know, goddamn. Duty's callin'.“

“And don't you forget it, Sakamoto.“

Out of all the possibilities, his job in this shitty place wasn't all too bad – being able to cook decent meals came with a  _lot_ of upsides, he'd noticed. Other than him being able to just spend his duty in the kitchen, it also caused a lot of the other inmates to be way more positive towards him. They'd smuggle him stuff inside through their relatives for lower fees, or stand up for him when he got into some kind of trouble – it was a weird thought, because that was unlike anything he'd ever been treated. His foul, loud mouth had caused him all kinds of trouble back in high school, but considering this was a goddamn  _prison_ , it probably made sense.

He got up, made the bed as well as he could before jumping down – he just preferred not sleeping too close to the ugly floor, so the upper part of the high sleeper had been his natural choice – and dressed before he could get in any trouble. The regulations were pretty chill, it was more like a camp than what you'd imagine a prison to be like – hell, it even came with the bed-time rules, although the punishment for not following them were more severe here than they'd been in high school, quite obviously.

Before he could turn to leave, though, he noticed something on the lower part of the bed –  _clothes_ . Still wrapped in plastic and folded neatly. He'd been lucky enough to have the  room  to himself until now, but apparently, that meant his peace was going to end soon. Great.  Even greater since no one had felt the need to let him know.  Hopefully, it wouldn't be some uptight asshole – Ryuji'd been waiting for someone to destroy in cardgames for months now, and he wasn't going to accept some idiot taking that possibility from him, now that it finally came.  For now, it couldn't be helped though. Maybe that guy would already be here once he returned.

\----- -----

The hours went by surprisingly slowly, maybe because Ryuji hadn't been able to hide his excitement for the stranger who would most likely await him upon his return. Would he be nice? A dick? Younger? Older? At least he wasn't worried about getting beat up, because he honestly took some pride of the muscle he'd gained in the past years by going to the gym and running regularly.

Eventually, he was able to go back, and yeah, he'd been right – there was his  _room_ mate, although cellmate sounded like a more fitting term, lying on the bed inspecting something he was turning in his hands; the way he did so reminded Ryuji of a knife, but he immediately shut himself up.  _Minimum security._ This guy couldn't be any more dangerous than himself, and anyone having some sort of violent criminal record wouldn't be down here. It was all fine. Absolutely no need to get paranoid.

“Yo,” he forced himself to say instead, raising a hand lazily when the guy looked up after putting his glasses on – so that was what he'd been playing with. Instead of answering, he just nodded, the fact that his glasses weren't anti-glare giving away nothing about the look in his eyes. Great.

Ryuji decided it wasn't worth pushing the guy, and climbed up to his own bed. He'd go take a shower somewhat later, preferably shortly before lockdown, but right now, he just wanted to rest for a bit. To his surprise, the guy below him seemed a bit more talkative than Ryuji had expected, even if not any more polite.

“Not even introducing yourself? How rude.”

He peaked over the edge and raised an eyebrow, telling himself not to get mad no matter what. That was what a lot of these assholes tried, he'd heard from some other inmates. They'd provoke you so you'd punch them and they'd get the room to themselves.

_I ain't givin' you that, bitch._

“Oh, I'm sorry, _bro_ , I figured you might be deaf or some shit.”

“The tough kind, I see? Endearing.”

His voice was pleasant, as if he were trying really hard to get the best of Ryuji – and he probably was. But then the guy chuckled darkly and let the corners of his lips rise to a cocky smile, raising an eyebrow before saying:

“I'm Akira. Is that enough to get your name, too, vulgar boy?”

_Don't get mad, don't get mad, don't fuckin' jump down there and punch the everloving shit out of that stupid face-_

“Ryuji. As if that guard didn't tell ya, though.”

“Mh, he might have dropped a name, _Sakamoto._ Can't say he sounded like you were his favorite.”

How surprising. Not. No one was ever a fan of his loud mouth or the fact that he couldn't just look away when he saw injustice. This place was a lot less bad than it could be, but that didn't mean things always went well. In just a few months, Ryuji had gotten into a whole damn lot of trouble all because he'd tried to stand up for someone else, someone weaker. And he wouldn't lie and claim that he regretted it, either – helping the weak was just _right._

“Ain't that heartbreakin'. Considerin' your arrogant attitude, he won't like ya much better. So, what ya in for?”

A heavy, way too dramatic sigh, before that Akira-dude got up to sit on the chair instead, maybe so they could face each other better. Deciding that it made sense, Ryuji sat up too, letting his feet dangle over the edge and bending over a bit so his head wouldn't hit the ceiling.

“They're locking me up for shoplifting. Some sort of jewelry store, I believe.”

“You believe?”

“You see, the thing is…I didn't do it.”

_Of course._

He couldn't help but laugh at that. What a cheap, ugly excuse,  and he even understood why someone would say that. Getting caught while shoplifting was one thing – getting caught afterwards and not being able to pay back the amount of money they'd stolen for, thus having no choice but to go to jail –  _ouch._ But lying about it wouldn't really change a thing.

“What's so funny?”

“Sorry, dude, but…ain't that the lamest excuse ever? You're already here, it's past the point of denyin', wouldn't'ya say?”

“You tell me instead: Where would be the point in lying to my roommate? It's quite evident no one will come back here and say _“Surprise, you're free!”_ , but that doesn't mean I have to bow to a lie. I did _not_ do it.”

His voice was still calm, but Ryuji could feel that Akira was growing annoyed of him, impatient even. Why did he even care so much about having some stranger believe him? Personally, Ryuji wouldn't care if the guy believed him his drug-selling history had been nothing but a means to help someone else – he knew the truth, and nothing else mattered. Right?

“Well, then why did they lock you up?”

“Surprisingly enough, the shop owner's description fit me so well that I was caught on the open street.”

He leaned back dramatically, stretched his arms and then shrugged before crossing his legs. There was something in his attitude – something unbelievably narcissistic, as if he were trying to pose for someone. As much as he wanted to find it pathetic, Ryuji couldn't help but enjoy the sight. It was like watching the theater.

“I suppose it was the lack of an alibi that had me end up here.”

For some reason, it really didn't sound like Akira was a liar. A pretentious bitch, maybe, but his words sounded honest.

“What about you, Sakamoto?”

How cheap it was to call someone by their last name, but refusing to tell one's own. Another arrogant action, and Ryuji would've bet an eye on Akira being well aware of that.

“Eh, nothin' huge. Needed a decent amount of money to…help someone. Got a pretty neat offer from a friend. Housin' and sellin' some drugs, that's in. Fuckin' hoe eventually sold me out for probably a good price.”

“Ouch.”

Yeah, ouch indeed. He probably wouldn't have landed here if it hadn't been for both the drugs having been sold _and_ the money being gone, but it was fine.

“Whom were you trying to help in the first place?”

What, he bought that story from the get-go? Ryuji knew that it sounded just as much like a lie as Akira's own had, and he wouldn't even have been surprised to be called out for it. Still, this was going too far for the first five minutes of them sharing a room.

“Yeah, as if I'm just tellin' ya.”

“Hm, it was worth a try. So you're not as dumb as I'd feared.”

Oh, sure. Of course that sly asshole had just tested him; probably one of those dicks who'd end up analyzing the whole block in half a day, make connections and lead the black market in here by the end of the month. Ryuji wasn't yet sure if he looked forward to that – since, really, being roommates with someone who had decent control over the rest of the inmates was _brilliant –_ or if it scared him. He thought back to the way Akira had been turning his glasses in his hands, his cheeky attitude, his whole posture as if he were some sort of superior God looking down on the world.

_Minimum security, Ryuji. Chill the fuck out._

“Ain't this gonna be a fun living-arrangement.”

“I was just thinking the same, Sakamoto.”

_Just. You. Wait._


	2. Proof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~Yes, I have a thing for kinky ways to make a deal, catch me 'bout it-~~  
>  At first, I wanted this to go heavily slower, but I figured it wouldn't be so much fun to create a..."false" personality for one of the vital protagonists of this, so the ending kinda picks up a bit on what's going on for real.

Things turned out to be mostly fine, at least for the biggest part of it. Ryuji had been right – Akira was an arrogant, sly, pretentious prick, and he took every available chance to prove that, be it during lunch  where he commented on the food  impolitely ,  while taking  extra-long showers to piss off someone waiting for a free stall, or any other activity,  really . On the other hand, though, he was a lot more approachable than it had initially seemed like, immediately agreeing on doing the most different kinds of things together – playing cards was one of them, sure, but Ryuji hadn't expected to get the guy to  hit the gym with him just like that.  But here they were,  in the middle of the night, wrecking the treadmills with no one else around to bother them. This  _really_ somehow felt more like a camp than a prison.

“You ain't half bad,” Ryuji commented when they took a break, both of them panting. He doubted that Akira would stand a chance against him if it were track running, but long-distance, he was a lot fitter than his slim form would've suggested.

“I find it mandatory to be able to run certain distances. Never know when you'll need it.”

“Ya sure you ain't a shoplift? 'Cause that hella sounds like what one would say.”

“Aren't you funny today?”

Sometimes, it wasn't quite obvious if their bickering really was just that, or something more hostile, but right now, Akira was still smiling, even if smugly, an eyebrow raised and his head tilted in a mocking demeanor. It made his – way too annoyingly long, if you asked Ryuji – hair caress his cheeks, and his glasses fail to function as a goddamn mirror, showcasing his small, grey-ish eyes.

In short, it didn't need a mastermind to see that he was physically appealing to many people, and Ryuji wondered if that was part of the reason why the guy was so unbelievably arrogant. Even the people he looked down  on  here seemed to enjoy that very fact. Maybe it was due to  him not only being poised as fuck, but also definitely smart.  Sometimes, he'd overhear a conversation in the cafeteria and have the audacity to just intrude and give his piece of mind or knowledge.

“Are you done staring into space? They'll open the showers soon. I believe if we're fast, we might grab an ounce of warm water.”

They did, eventually, although  _warm_ was definitely a bendable term.  _Not icy-cold_ fit a lot better in  Ryuji's opinion, but it couldn't be changed. If he'd learned a thing since he was here, it was not to be picky.

Even though it was early morning by now – they'd decided to go train together, then shower and head to their work shift together, since Akira had decided to work at the food counters in the mornings – there were already a whole ton of people up. It should make the place feel more lively, maybe even a tad more homey, but it really didn't. It was more like never having the slightest bit of privacy no matter when you chose to be awake.

“See you later, vulgar boy. Make sure not to ruin the food.”

For a second, Ryuji considered doing it on purpose, just to piss Akira off. Weren't they great friends already?

\----- -----

It took about one and a half weeks until Ryuji was –  _finally_ , the small masochistic, self-loathing voice in his head whispered – reminded of his initial caution regarding Akira. For anyone else  talking , it wouldn't be a huge thing, but waking up to hearing  _this_ guy mumble weird, cryptic stuff was more than just scary.

“…five foot ten. Green eyes, natural dirty-blond, slim, monotone facial structures. High jawline.”

At times like these, Ryuji wanted to curse the goddamn fact that hearing someone speak almost always immediately woke him up. It was as if his brain was trained to reactivate his functions upon hearing a voice. While he hadn't caught the rest of the description, he immediately knew who Akira was referring to – the guard who had given him a hard time earlier. As Ryuji had predicted, Akira wasn't exactly the guy's favorite either, and for some reason, he didn't take it too well.

The bed made a sad sound when Akira got up from it, but since there were no footsteps, Ryuji figured he wasn't going anywhere. It was probably for the best to pretend still being asleep, after all-

“You can stop. Your breath has obviously grown less even.”

_What the flying FUCK_ .

“Well 'xcuse me, figured I wouldn't disturb your incantation or whatever the shit that was.”

He didn't get an answer to that, and figured he preferred it like that. If there was a thing he didn't want to think about, it was any possible reason for why Akira would make some sort of mental – or maybe even written, thinking about it – list of features one of the guards had. It was creepy. Something was so entirely wrong with him, but then again, Ryuji didn't feel like he should get into it and possible cause himself trouble over some guy's weirdness.

“He has terrible taste in clothes, in case you're curious.”

“Dude, honestly, if you cared to make sense for one fuckin' second-”

The angry look on his face was weakened by the fact that he had to hold back a scream when he turned around, for there was something right in front of his face. Turned out to be a smartphone, and it showed some guy posing, wearing a truly ugly outfit. Not that this fact was in even the smallest kind of way relevant.

“Are you fuckin' serious? You stole a guard's phone? This'll get you into another facility in no time.”

“I'm sure it would, but I'm not planning on staying here much longer anyway.”

_Of fuckin' course!!_

“I'm too tired for your bullshit, dude.”

“You don't believe me.”

“No shit? Next thing you tell me is the sun bein' fuckin' yellow!”

“In fact, that is a misconception caused by the aerosphere. If you were to look at the sun directly, for example from space, it would appear to your eye as white.”

He'd stopped listening half-way into the sentence, way too sick of this creep's cocky know-it-all attitude,  and right now deciding that it was not safe to get involved with him after all. Really, wasn't a decent, not-crazy roommate so much to ask? They'd had fun together – at least Ryuji felt that way – but that didn't mean he was going to risk getting in trouble because Akira did.

He wasn't, was he?

“I suppose I will have to prove it to you, then. How about tonight?”

“Whatever makes your fuckin' goat float, dude.”

“Wonderful.”

That was the exact last word on Ryuji's vocabulary that he would have chosen for this whole situation, but he decided it was in no way worth arguing about that. Whatever Akira was planning – in case he wasn't bluffing about it, of course – would fall into action later today. Until then, it so wasn't worth wasting time on him.

Instead, Ryuji got up, deciding it was time to waste some of his money on a new book or some shit. He kind of liked the system; work, get – ridiculously low – amounts of money sent to your prison ID card, waste that money on any form of entertainment. It was simply, it made sense, and it was pretty fair – considering that the people here were  _criminals_ , after all.

The stuff he got was pretty lame, but it should be enough to chill somewhere for a few hours and try to force every single thought of Akira out of his brain. Things probably would've been so much easier without such a douche-y roommate, but it couldn't be helped – eight more months, that was all. He was already through a third.

Suddenly, Ryuji couldn't stop himself from thinking what would happen if he dared to sell Akira out, too. Sure, it was one dirty kind of action, and the very ugly reason that _he_ was here in the first place, but wasn't it fair game? It was no fair to pull him into this in any kind of way, and whatever was going to happen tonight, maybe he could prevent it, if-

“Hey, Sakamoto! Mind to get wrecked?!”

It was an idea for later, after he destroyed the hell out of this arrogant prick challenging him to some stupid card games.

\----- -----

Eventually, Ryuji hadn't cared enough to even try and report Akira. What was he supposed to say, even? _Hi, this weirdo stole a guard's phone_? Knowing his own luck, it was a set-up, and he was the one who would get in trouble because of it. _Keep to yourself and you're fine_ was a thing that supposedly worked in this place well enough, so he'd decided he would try that now. Part of him was worried when Akira left their room without a single word late in the evening, but the bigger part forced himself not to care.

_It's his goddamn problem, not mine._

_As long as I don't get involved, I can't get in trouble either._

_Dude ain't got an idea what he's even doin'._

It was only when he heard a voice call out for him that he realized he'd fallen asleep. The room was rather dark when he reluctantly opened his eyes, so it was probably night now. At first, he considered ignoring it, but when a weird, highly unpleasant smell reached his nose, he got worried. It was salty, and somewhat sour – and it reminded him of a goddamn public toilet.

“Are you awake yet, Sakamoto?”

He decided not to care about the fact this asshole had yet to ever call him by his first name, after _actively_ asking for it back on day one. Instead, Ryuji turned around madly, throwing the blanket off himself and trying to keep his angry voice down while sitting up.

“What the goddamn fuck are you freak doin' down-”

He froze.

There was definitely not even a single thing in the world that had ever managed to shut him up as fast as the sight right before him, illuminated only by the flashlight of the phone in Akira's hand, pointing at…

At…

“What the _shit!_ ”

He didn't know if it was the sight mixed with the smell, but Ryuji had a very hard time keeping himself from vomiting right on the spot. Lying next to Akira's feet – who was yet again sitting on the table like a stupid drag queen, smiling just politely enough to make it look insane – was the _green-eyes-five-foot-ten-whatever-other-features_ guard he'd been mumbling about earlier, in a puddle of his very own bodily fluids.

_Shit. Shit shit shit._

It didn't need a professional to see that he was dead, and Ryuji didn't need to ask to understand why. This was Akira's true nature – his way of proving how serious he was, his way of showing that he indeed didn't intend on staying in this godforsaken place any longer.

“You don't look that hot right now, vulgar boy. Have I finally managed to shut you up?”

He should be screaming, running, trying anything to get away from this psychopath in time, but all Ryuji found himself do was jump down, take one huge step forward and swing his fist in Akira's arrogant face so hard that even his knuckles made a sorry sound about it. What a  _relief_ .

However, he hadn't planned his action s any further than th at, which  was why he didn't react to the answer in time – he was kicked in the stomach so unexpectedly hard that it send him flying to the floor in the direction of their bed. Before he could get back up, there was a weight on his hip pressing him down, and something cool pressing against his throat – he wouldn't find out if it was a knife by moving too much.

“Wow, you…I expected you to start whining, or cry even, but here you are, having the audacity to hit me. I'm not even mad.”

“I don't give a flying fuck, you goddamn sick- _stop!”_

He tried to press himself into the ground any further, anything to get away from the sharp blade burrowing into his Adam's apple. Wherever the phone had fallen when Akira had charged at him, it must have landed on its back, for the flashlight hardly lit up any of the room anymore. It wouldn't change much, for Ryuji  _felt_ the body on top of him press onto his, the slim fingers caressing his cheek, the strong legs press against his hips to keep him in position – screw what he'd been thinking about not getting beat up in here. What Akira seemed to lack in physical strength, he made up with technique, and he seemed to know just perfectly how to pin someone down.

“If you stopped screaming.” The voice was too close, _way too fuckin' close_ to his ear, almost purring the words, a mixture of excitement and anger. “I wouldn't have to hurt you, too.”

So it was all  _shut up to live_ . He considered, although he wasn't sure what good would come out of that. If Akira fled, it would leave a slightly hurt Ryuji with a dead guard in his room, which could be interpreted as him being innocent, but didn't have to be. Maybe they'd accuse him of being an accomplice in some way.

“I ain't bowin' down to your sick garbage. So much for not bein' a criminal, huh?!”

And Akira laughed, evilly, but genuinely, as if that was the best joke he'd ever heard in his life.

“See, this is your problem – you don't think far enough. I said I didn't shoplift. I never said I wasn't a criminal.”

“How about you fuck yourself, dude.”

“Again-”

He felt the cold metal slide across his skin, and warm blood dripping from  the wound right afterwards. So this was it – the moment every single bad thing he'd ever done piled up into one gigantic ball of karma kicking him in the back. After four months of doing well, accepting this fate, not regretting a single thing because he'd only helped his mom, this was his payback.

“-You don't think far enough. Or you're stupid enough not to care.”

As much as he wanted to fight back, spit in Akira's face, do something,  _anything_ to get him off himself – he wasn't playing around. One wrong move and he might go for the kill; and if he was honest, Ryuji didn't plan on dying in this  pl ace. The fear creeping up inside him was one thing – the thought of his mom crying a whole damn other, and one he couldn't bear to even  imagine.

“You're trembling.”

_Big fuckin' news._

“Can't speak for you, but I ain't exactly _used_ to this kinda thing. I figured you weren't quite normal earlier today, but this… _this_.  You're a mindless psychopath!”

“I'm hurt.”

Akira  _finally_ let go of him in a quick motion, got up and walked away, the sound his shoes made in the mixture of blood, sweat and piss making Ryuji cringe badly, yet he was glad when the light was turned on,  although he refused to look away from the wall he was facing right now. If he looked up, he might have to see Akira. If he sat up, he would see the corpse. Big choice there.

“I didn't leave even a single fingerprint – not that it matters, of course, since they'll know it was either of us, but still. Have some more faith in me, _Ryuji._ ”

Oh no.

This was not the one instance of him saying that name, he was not grinning like a smooth-ass bitch while doing so, he was  _totally_ not pretending that they were having some sort of moment here. Everything about Akira just  _screamed_ arrogant hypocrisy, and if he weren't still holding the knife lazily, Ryuji would get up and punch him again for good measure.

“Your point? You a psychopath, but not mindless? Dude, spare me with this bullshit of yours.”

“Be quiet.”

He didn't want to obey, but he did. There were footsteps outside, causing him to panic, pull his legs closer and beg for it to just end fast. If they were found out like this, there was just the slimmest chance still that they would see that all of this had been Akira, and him alone. Ryuji was doing well, behaving well, there was no reason for him to accept getting drawn into this.

But then the sound of the footsteps faded, and Ryuji felt his heart sink right through the floor, probably straight to hell  where it would rot, joined by himself soon at the pace things were currently going. He flinched when Akira towered over him, reaching out, apparently to help him up.

“Here's the deal, Sakamoto. You know too much already, so I'll let you decide.”

Before he could take the hand, Akira dropped down to sit on his hips yet again, a murderous smile on his face, the knife somewhere between their way-too-close faces.

“You vow to do whatever I say, no questions asked. Or, if you prefer so, I will end your life quickly, here and now.”

There was not a single doubt that he wasn't bluffing.

“Fine, I…I'll do what you say.”

He held the knife out of sight, leaned in closer and put a finger to Ryuji's chin, pushing it up, most likely to inspect his neck. Then, without a word, he closed in and licked the blood of the wound he had caused earlier, letting out an interested, throaty hum when Ryuji swallowed hard at the action. If that was some sort of seal to their contract, then it was more than just weird – and yet, he couldn't keep his face from heating up, or his hands from clenching to fists on the cold linoleum floor.  This  _so_ wasn't happening.

“It's a deal, then.”


	3. Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~Look, I have no idea how to properly write gun-dad, pls forgive me.~~  
>  While writing, I decided this story plays in 2017 for convenience reasons, hence the date of birth.

Their deal turned out to be surprisingly simple for the moment – shut up, follow, don't touch anything, play normal. On the inside, Ryuji was entirely losing his shit, obviously, but he managed to pretend that they were two entirely normal guys taking a casual walk through the facility – which wasn't forbidden, and nothing was  _really_ locked off, except for access to some places like the showers or the library, after all. But then, they reached the end of the line – drawn on the cement-floor in white, indicating that this was the point they were not allowed to cross.

“We have less than a minute. The second I say so, you start running. Keep your head low, don't look back. There's a door outside of there, I'm sure you know which one.”

He nodded in the direction of the building right across, and he was most likely referring to the huge wall on the other side of it; Ryuji remembered, because he'd entered the place right there all those months ago – however, it was definitely locked, he knew that much.

“Not sayin' I won't do it, dude, but…how do we get through?”

“Leave that to me. Go.”

He hesitated,  only for a second,  raising a hand in a confused motion. What was he? Some sort of bait? There was absolutely no indication that Akira  _truly_ had a way of getting them out of this place. Instead of  explaining  though, he just pressed Ryuji against the wall, his eyes thin  merely slits, brows furrows and lips a straight line.

“Did I stutter, Sakamoto?”

“No, goddamn, I…fine. Gimme the cue again.”

He let go, nodded and turned around, back towards where they'd come from. Without looking at Ryuji again, he repeated himself:

“Go.”

This time, Ryuji did, without an ounce of hesitation. He didn't look back, he kept his head low, he ran straight through the information hall and for the wall keeping them locked in the place. He wasn't sure if there were cameras, and if yes, if they were under permanent observation – it would make sense, otherwise he wasn't sure why Akira said they didn't have much time. Trying his luck, Ryuji went for the door-handle, but obviously to no avail.

_Wouldn't that have been a bit too easy._

In his head, he counted the seconds from the moment he'd come to a halt. _Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen._ He felt the sweat building up on his forehead, the way his clenched fists trembled, his own unsteady breath, the fear of having fucked up-

Then, the sound of footsteps coming closer  reached him . He'd vowed not to turn around, and he stuck to it – if it was a guard who'd lock him up again; screw it! Maybe that w ould  actually be for the better.  Part of him still wanted to believe that this wasn't happening, that he was stuck in a very dark, very realistic nightmare and that the shock of being caught would finally wake him up. But naturally, he wasn't that lucky.

“Step aside.”

Akira's voice was but a whisper,  yet he didn't fail to sound clear and demanding. For a moment, Ryuji halfway expected him to kick the door in or, simply enough, just climb over the wall, but instead, this  _goddamn freak_ opened it casually with the  _fuckin'_ key. 

“You don't want the answer.”

He really didn't.  Not a single inch of him wanted to know if someone else had died for this, or if this made him a culprit as well; seriously – could he be blamed? This psycho was literally forcing him to do what he said if he valued his life even in the slightest, there was hardly a goddamn choice here.

“Our lift isn't far, but we'll have to cross through that park to not cause a stir.”

That made sense, considering any pedestrian would be able to identify them as prisoners – life was easy, but uniform was uniform, and the ugly kind of brownish-orange they had to wear was too obvious to be mistaken.  While Ryuji didn't necessarily expect people to walk around a prison in the middle of the night, there was always a  _chance_ – and now that he was already in this garbage, his desire to be found grew smaller and smaller each second.

“Let's jog over. That's not a problem for you, right?”

He snorted, trying not to let Akira's cocky attitude get to him. It was pure provocation, and he'd be damned if he fell for it when there was no need. Instead, he simply nodded once, waited for the cue to run, and let the cool wind do his best in trying to blow his conflicting thoughts away.

No matter the hours he'd spent on the treadmills, or even racing around the outdoors parts of the prison – there was absolutely nothing that came even close to the feeling of running in a park, the earth to his feet just  muddy enough that he could feel his shoes sink into it a bit before pushing himself forward again. The natural breeze caressing his overheated face, carrying away every single negative thought trying to hunt him.

Running in the park was like running from his problems. And right now, he felt like there wasn't a single thing he'd rather do. As long as he kept going, no one could stop him. As long as he focused on the sight ahead, pushing himself just past his own limit, he could pretend he was not just ruining his own life by fleeing from his sentence. As long as he didn't stop, he was invincible.

Well, at least until he felt fingers brushing against his arm, kicking him out of the blissful trance as if he'd been hit by a truck. A soft nod to the side indication to turn to the left next, and soon after, they ended up crossing the street right into a way-too-shady backstreet. Considering everything Ryuji had already witnessed today, this really wasn't half bad, although he did mourn the fact that they'd returned to walking, Akira's breath a little more hasty than his own, small drops of sweat on the tips of his wild strands, hands now buried in his pockets.  It was unbelievable how casual he was about all of this, as if this were any-day routine to him; which, maybe, it actually was.

“Over there.”

He  pointed towards a pretty random-looking, black car. It was nothing special, and nothing super-ugly, but Ryuji didn't know the first thing about vehicles, and he didn't care enough to change that. Point was that it made  _sense_ to flee like this, but when the  _hell_ had Akira managed to talk to someone about this whole operation? It must have been earlier, when Ryuji had done his best to ignore their shared room problem. What a risky plan, really.

“It's a goddamn miracle we made it, ain't it?”

“Don't underestimate me like that.”

They both entered the car in the back, and Ryuji tried his hardest to return the malicious look he was giving from the driver as casually as he could. Her brownish-red eyes pierced right through him, her short hair playing around her face perfectly. Without saying a word to him, she started the engine and raised an eyebrow at Akira in the rear-view mirror.

“I don't remember the plan involving any stray puppies.”

Luckily, he reacted before she'd even said the last word, because otherwise Ryuji wouldn't have been able to compose himself, that much was for sure.

“And I don't remember asking your opinion. Now if you would, I'd like to get out of this insulting attire.”

There was something scary in how his whole attitude had changed, entirely different from how he'd been before, even when he'd presented his murder like a trophy. Right now, he was neither nice nor playful, and he wasn't trying to impress – whoever this woman was, there was no doubt she was trying to put Akira in his place, and even less doubt that he wasn't accepting it. He was _repulsing._

Not that any of it mattered much to Ryuji. He was in a car with strangers, an escapee from a punishment that hadn't been too bad. Half an hour ago, he'd found a corpse in his room and right now, he was sitting right next to the murderer as if it were nothing. Wherever they were going, he'd be caged there if he didn't want to be found.

In short: His life was going to shit faster than he could run. And he didn't like it a single bit.

Then, when he thought the previous bickering back over again, he realized something.

“Plan?”

Although he should probably have expected that at this point. He probably wouldn't be able to come up with a good reason to go to jail, but he also wasn't a ruthless killer who saw violence and delinquency as some sort of comedic entertainment.

“I can't tell you, I fear. It's best not to talk in our current company, either.”

“Don't make me crash this car. This isn't some sort of game, unlike you've apparently forgotten.”

They all fell silent, giving Ryuji time to stare out of the window and try to make out where they were going – to surprisingly big avail, really. He'd expected they'd either head out of the city entirely or at least hide somewhere, well, _hidden_ , but instead, he soon found himself recognizing uptown, and the most upscale part, too. In his opinion, that was a shitty place to flee to, but then again, he wasn't too well-versed in criminality.

When they finally came to a stop, he felt like there was a solid chance he'd drop unconscious. Sure, it was night, and he couldn't make out the place too perfectly, but what he _could_ see was not of this planet. They passed a huge-ass gate, ending up in front of a…well.

“Villa ain't too strong a word for this, and I hate it.”

He hadn't planned on commenting on it, but really, there was hardly a choice. The dooryard was more of its own little park, the entrance inviting like a staircase to heaven. It was literally a depiction of every rich-ass fucker in a bad Hollywood movie. Obviously, the only answer Akira had to give him was a dark snicker, as if he'd expected that reaction. They dismounted, and Ryuji watched after the car, expecting that the woman was going to park it in some goddamn gold-coated palace or some shit.

“This way. Oh, and one thing.”

Akira grabbed his collar and pulled him close, something Ryuji felt he didn't want to get used to. His first instinctive thought was _he might kill me_ , and that was not precisely the kind of atmosphere he'd want to be in. When Akira closed in to whisper something in his ear, though, he felt his tense body ease up a bit.

“Don't interact with anyone before I've settled things, no matter what. Even if they try anything.”

“Then what? Can't even _defend_ myself?”

“I'll protect you.”

_I don't want your fuckin' protection_ .

He figured it was smarter not to say that.  Whatever kind of people Akira was affiliated to, they couldn't be much better than him, and in all honesty, his scruples seemed little enough for him to be the better option to rely on. Still, it made Ryuji mad, especially since he didn't have the first clue as to  _why_ Akira would care to protect him.

“Are we clear on this?”

“God, screw it. Yes. No talking to any-fuckin'-one 'til you've done your damn business.”

If Ryuji could, he'd shove that cocky smile up this freak's ass, but  instead he looked away, trying hard not to pout, and finally followed when Akira made his way for the entrance. Surprisingly, there weren't any guards, although the door  _was_ locked with a fingerprint-system. Ryuji wasn't sure if he found that convenient or stupid, and decided it probably didn't matter. 

The interior was somehow highly different from what he'd expected. Sure, the hall was huge and what he could see of the nearby rooms by peaking inside was absolutely breathtaking, but more than anything, it looked…empty? Almost a little dead, like a farce put up to hide something.

“It does not always seem this abandoned, in case you're wondering. Everyone's just on alert these days.”

“Because you've messed up, huh?”

“Bite your tongue, will you?”

That was enough of an answer either way. They headed for the living room, and before Ryuji could even wonder what they could want there, Akira decided to go even _more_ cliché and reveal a hidden flight of stairs leading down behind one of the bookshelves. Well, that wasn't _too_ surprising in all honesty, considering that this was apparently the home of a group or family of criminals. What were they hiding down there?

Unlike Ryuji would've expected, he wasn't greeted by anything macabre or shocking; they ended up in some sort of meeting room – a large table in the center, a wall of monitors on the wall left of them. The redheaded girl sitting in front of it didn't even look at them when they entered, very much unlike the brute-looking man who'd apparently already been waiting for Akira's return. The look on his face was murderous, to put it nicely, and Ryuji had a hard time sticking to Akira's words when the guy walked up to him straight.

“Stay put.”

“Give me a good reason to, brat. You think you can just bring people here without consequences? This isn't some sort of game, in case you've forgotten.”

His eyes still focused on Ryuji calculatingly; it was more than hard to just keep up a straight face without it coming off as provocative, but then again, it probably didn't matter. The simple fact that he was _here_ was already ticking this guy off – and, seriously, if Ryuji could, he'd _love_ to be _anywhere_ else right now as well, but there wasn't really much of a choice for him.

“What's your advice then? Should I just have left him there? He knows way too much.”

“My advice? Get rid of him, before I do it.”

He didn't want to, but Ryuji couldn't help taking a step back in caution, finally tearing his eyes from the man staring him down, instead looking over to Akira. Well, that wasn't much more pleasant of a view either, in all honesty, because he looked mad – not angry mad, but insane mad, his pupils wide, his mouth forming a small, almost innocent O, head slightly tilted and a hand on his pocket where he was most likely still hiding the knife from earlier.

“You put a dirty finger on him and I'll personally skin you, slowly and thoroughly. This is my first and only warning.”

There was something undefinable about him, the aura he gave off. Ryuji wanted to turn around and run, to forget ever having met any of these people. He wanted to go back to his smelly, rusty, uncomfortable prison bed if only it meant to get away from these toxic, dangerous people.

“Aren't you a little overprotective of your new toy, kid? Make sure not to break it, like you do with everything else you touch.”

“Oh, I'll be extra-careful, _mom_. If you could get lost now, I'd be so happy.”

Without a warning, Akira pulled Ryuji by the sleeve, over to the girl who still hadn't even torn her eyes from all the monitors in front of her, and didn't let go when even when he talked to her.

“I'll need you to erase some extra-data from the police registers for me, Navi.”

_Navi?_ That  _so_ didn't sound like a name. She turned around slightly, adjusted her glasses and grinned devilishly, although Ryuji couldn't help but find it cute. She was undoubtedly younger than him, maybe in her late-teens. Either way, everything about her was already a lot more likeable than the other dude, and Ryuji felt himself ease up a bit because of that.

“Sure, _anything_ for youuu~. I'm sure it's about this guy's data. What is he? A hooligan, a killer?! Give me all the details!”

But why the hell did she sound so  _excited_ ?

“Neither. We were in the minimum security facility, in case you forgot.”

“Boo~ring!”

Akira turned around, Ryuji following suit, only to show that they were now alone in the room. That didn't make it _much_ more comfortable, but at least he didn't have to fear being stabbed from behind at any possible second.

“Ryuji Sakamoto. Born July 3rd 1995\. Started serving his sentence four months ago, on April 11th. Sentenced to twelve months due to owning and selling minor drugs over the course of approximately three months. Do you need more?”

“I didn't even need more than the name, and you know that!”

How the absolute _hell_ did Akira know all this? Why was there such a cocky, arrogant grin on his face when he turned his head slightly? Why was he suddenly so goddamn happy again? Well, it couldn't hurt to make use of, so Ryuji pushed his luck a bit and dared to finally say something.

“Does this mean ya business has been settled?”

A short nod.

“Wonderful. Now what?”

“Hm, I'd suggest we find some more suitable attire for both of us. Brown so isn't my color.”

What a _drag-queen_ , seriously.

But the idea of getting out of these sweaty, smelly, horrible clothes was extremely pleasing, so Ryuji nodded and let Akira lead him back out of this weird meeting room, back to the main hall and upstairs to where he expected stuff like bed- and bathrooms. Obviously, it all screamed _rich_ as well, and it was a total waste considering that no one seemed to properly use these rooms.

There was a huge balcony right across the stairs, and Ryuji couldn't help trying to get a look at the garden outside, but since it was dark, all he could make out was the fact that it was huge, and that it had its stereotypical swimming pool. Because why wouldn't it?

“You can look at these things tomorrow, you know? There's something I'd like to…discuss with you.”

This so couldn't end well, could it? Sure, Akira was carefree enough again, but his mood tended to shift incredibly fast. Maybe he'd tick out all out of sudden, who knew?

“Sure, dude. What is it?”

“Over here!”

_Goddamn it, this really is a game to you, ain't it?_

They ended up in a way-too-fancy bedroom. Even just standing in it, Ryuji felt like a rich-ass bitch. There was literally everything a person could need, and so much more. A huge bed, a bookshelf, TV, a desk with different electronic devices on it, another balcony, pretty domelight and even a preposterously adorned ceiling fan. How _pushy_.

“Uh, so, question. This whole place yours?”

“You could say that, yes. Is there a problem?”

“No, no, just…”

He scratched the back of his head and swallowed, feeling incredibly misplaced in a place so upper-class. Most of his life, he hadn't been exactly poor, but this here was a whole different _world_ for him.

“Why'd ya bring me here, dude? Wouldn't it've been easier t'just get rid of me back there? I'm…confused. Ya don't even know me.”

_Or so I hope._ He hadn't forgotten the incredibly amount of detail Akira had known about him, starting with his birthday all over to his sentence. They'd addressed neither of this in their time as roommates, as Ryuji hadn't yet seen any reason to. Now he at least knew why Akira hadn't even bothered asking anymore.

“Curiosity, I guess? Everyone here's so exhaustively uptight, and I'm sick of it. I'd been thinking about getting you out with me, but I'll be honest – I only made the decision when you almost broke my nose.”

“That's...just a bit weird, man.”

“My point is that you don't play tough and then back down. You actually stick to your beliefs. I want to know how long you will.”

So eventually, it really was but some sort of sick game to him – well, so be it. The choice was this or certain death at this point, and that basically made it  _no choice_ whatsoever. For now, Ryuji figured he'd have to go along with it, get a good amount of sleep and think things through in the morning. There wasn't much else to do right now anyway.

“You look tired. There's just one more thing.”

A smug grin formed on Akira's lips when he closed the distance between them and pushed Ryuji against the closed door gently enough for it not to be scary. What was he up to now?

“Whenever there's anyone but us, you'll refrain from saying either your name or mine. It's safest to not trust anyone too much, I'm sure you've already learned that the hard way.”

What a way to turn the knife in the wound – yet, it was true. Anyone could turn out to be a snitch, an enemy even, as long as they took profit from it. So the rule made sense to him.

“Well, you want me to think of some nickname?”

Akira laughed almost squeakily, shaking his head in amusement  and moving closer, their faces now mere inches from each other's,  their noses brushing lightly,  his grin turning into something darker, something thirstier when he  murmured :

“No, silly. My place, my rules – I pick the names. So from now on, whenever we have company, I'll be Joker-”

And without a warning, he put his lips right at the corner of Ryuji's, breathing against them way too  _goddamn_ arousingly.

“-And you'll be Skull.”


	4. Layout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a bit because there's so little...I don't know, story to it? ;~; But I needed it as a set-up for their relationship, and also the introduction of some new characters (yay!).

“Must it always be a choice this extravagant for you, Joker? It is, yet again, way too far from any possible subtlety.”

Even though judging a book by its cover was rude, Ryuji couldn't help but sigh at the tall man rambling about the description he'd just been given. Everything about him screamed _extra_ , and in even more annoying ways than it did for Akira. This dude wasn't sly, smug or devilish – he was simply dramatic.

“Subtlety? I just thought it'd fit his face nicely.”

“Please, refrain from forcing your cheap lies on me. I will do it, of course. Give me a day.”

“Thanks, Fox.”

_Fox._ Now if that didn't fit the guy perfectly.  The neat way his blue-ish hair fell into his face, pursed lips visibly disapproving of the task he'd been asked to do – one that Ryuji, just to mention it,  _still_ didn't understand at all.  He'd been fine with the nickname  Skull ; it sounded a bit edgy to him, but tons and miles better than  _both_ Joker and Fox, although Navi was alright, too.

But  where on earth was even the simplest need for a  _mask_ ? He wouldn't be wearing it casually during the day, that much was for sure, because that would easily be a good dozen times more suspicious than just showing his face to the world. No, this was probably just one more of Akira's many ways of being forcefully special – and because arguing with him usually ended with Ryuji being pressed into the next wall in ways he did  _not_ quite approve of, he decided it was better to just not bother.

“I will need to take measurements of your face for the task, Skull.”

“Yeah, what-fuckin' ever, dude.”

H e dropped into one of the way too comfortable chairs in the room that faintly reminded him of a study – it was full of the most different art supplies, from scaffolds over tons of modeling compound to a shelf with dozens of lined-up bottles of paint.

It's not a room he would deliberately choose to be in any day.  Other than the chairs being nice, it just collided with himself too much. He'd fear knocking something over, ruining a finished piece of art, and overall, he'd be…misplaced. Art so wasn't his thing, in any kind of way, and he partly blamed it on that fact that he could barely keep himself still when this weird  _Fox-_ guy literally measured his face.

“Very well. Like I said, it'll be done for try on tomorrow. I suppose I'm glad your way of throwing money around is in my favor.”

“Oh, it's all because of you, Fox.”

Akira was _purring_ the name, and Ryuji wanted to grab him by the neck and give him a physical piece of his mind about that very fact. What did this guy think he was? Some sexy anime character? Disgusting.

Either way, they were soon  told to leave – something about artistic peace – and Ryuji didn't wait long before walking off on his own. He knew he couldn't just leave this monstrosity of a house by himself, but honestly, there was enough  _in here_ to probably entertain him for a lifetime or two, so that wasn't much of a problem.

Yet, he was worried. The creepy guy whose name he had yet to learn hadn't showed up again, and as far as Ryuji knew, the girl nicknamed Navi hadn't surfaced from the weird special room downstairs yet, either. Technically, it wasn't any of his business, but there was no doubt he wasn't exactly wanted in this place by anyone but Akira – hell, he didn't want to _be_ here in the first place!

He flinched at a hand touching his shoulder, but kept himself from trying to get away from it. If anything, he was starting to understand that there was hardly any way of avoiding Akira for long, because he was weirdly clingy around here. Sure, they'd spend their time together for the most of it in their shared cell, too, but now they were _free_. Didn't he have stuff to do?

“There somethin' ya wanna say?”

They passed by the stairs leading downstairs, and thus also the balcony headed towards the garden. In the daylight, it was countless times more impressive, as it seemed to lead right into a glade, not quite enough trees to be a forest, but enough to count as a clearing for sure.

“Not really, no.”

The words startled him – for a second, Ryuji had almost forgotten he was being followed, and also the fact that he'd come to a halt to look out through the huge glass door. He looked to his side, just in time to catch Akira nudging his glasses up carelessly. They looked a bit goofy on him, come to think of it, almost innocent, which was but a very bad, terrible joke.

“I've been thinking, though, that there's probably many things _you_ would like to say.”

Oh, like _hell_.

Sure, there were about two million things on his mind that he wondered about or didn't understand. What was he supposed to do here? Why? What was Akira's grand plan from this point on? If anything, Ryuji did not plan on staying in this goddamn place for the rest of his life, but then there was also the undeniable fact that he was an _escapee_ now. If anyone found him, he was done for.

“Well, whadd'ya expectin'? You're kinda holdin' me hostage for your amusement, y'know?”

“Hostage?”

For whatever reason, Akira looked honestly shocked at the accusation, and Ryuji had no idea why. He was forced to stay in this place, not allowed – and also unable – to contact literally _anyone_ he knew. There was the huge room that was apparently his to use for now, and probably any form of entertainment available that he could imagine, but it was _still_ sort of a prison, only fancier.

“Look, dude, I somehow appreciate the fact that ya didn't kill me, alright? But this ain't exactly freedom, either.”

He continued walking, however waited a few steps ahead to indicate he didn't quite mind that much if Akira followed. Maybe there _were_ indeed a few things he wanted to know about – just a few insights on what he was supposed to expect from his life from now on.

“Shit, this' still crazy,” he mumbled to himself upon entering the huge-ass bedroom from before, letting himself fall onto the bed and closing his eyes shut. In any other situation, he would have probably been able to enjoy this arrangement, but wouldn't that be too easy? He chose to ignore the mattress giving in to another weight adding to it, however opened his eyes a bit faster than intended. The memory of Akira sliding his skin open was far from gone, and if he could, he'd prefer knowing the guy being clean of weapons. And of course, how else could it be, he was staring, legs crossed and his glasses yet again almost dropping from his face. It made Ryuji wonder if they were even real optical aids.

“Fuck, guess you're right, there's a ton'a things I wanna know, but at the same time I really don't. Just tell me, though…”

And he took a deep breath before asking, because he wasn't even sure if he was ready for the answer.

“Will I ever be able to leave this place?”

Akira's face was expressionless, his lips a straight line, and he sure took his time seemingly thinking about what to say. When he did finally open his mouth to speak, the words sounded very specifically chosen, as if he weren't quite sure if the consequences would be worth it.

“You can…technically leave, but…not on your own.”

An involuntary, barked laugh left Ryuji's throat.

“What, ya gonna be my fuckin' bodyguard? Dude, this shit is so, _so_ messed up. You're messed up. Shit, _I'm_ messed up.”

“I spared your life.”

“No, fuck you! You're not wordin' it like that, you unbelievable freak!”

He pushed himself up almost a bit too fast, barely managing to keep himself from swinging his fist in Akira's face again for this audacity.

“You're the one who ruined everything, dude! If it weren't for ya stupid _plan_ to go to prison on purpose, I'd be so fuckin' fine! Eight months and I'd be out, gettin' a new job and livin' a hella normal life. But you _had_ to destroy everything! Don't you dare make it sound like I owe you anythin'!”

Meanwhile, Akira hadn't moved an inch, but his hands were grabbing his knees, nails most likely digging into the hidden skin. He bit his lip slightly, his eyes staring like those of a cat focusing on its prey – his whole posture screamed that he was holding himself back, and part of Ryuji was very tempted to provoke him enough so he'd prove just how unpredictably dangerous and insane he was.

“I never said you owe me a thing, Ryuji.”

For reasons he wouldn't be able to point down for the love of it, hearing his name like that calmed him down. It was as if Akira was trying not to draw the knife he surely still had in his pocket and go for a smooth, fast kill. The thought was so stupidly foreign that it gave Ryuji a headache. His mind wanted to understand, and at the same time didn't. Akira was a maniac not backing down from killing random people if needed, and yet he was holding back right now. Nothing made sense.

“I do, however, not quite understand why you're so mad. I know you planned on returning to your old life, but was it really that good if it had you turn into a criminal?”

“I…you! Of course it ain't ever easy, but I have family, I have _friends_ , alright? And they're probably already worried as shit 'bout me!”

He couldn't stop thinking about his mom. She'd probably been contacted on the matter already, unless Navi had truly erased all data of him before that. But even then, she'd obviously go visit, and then she'd find out he wasn't there anymore, a goddamn escaped convict, and she'd be so, _so_ disappointed, not to mention worried and scared. Honestly, she deserved none of this, and all he wanted was to go home and tell her he was alright – even if it wasn't _exactly_ true.

“My apologies.”

Akira didn't sound apologetic at all, but rather annoyed. He looked away, faced some point on the wall and took his glasses off, turning them in one hand. Ryuji wasn't sure if it was because of the mood or because of Akira's general look, but without the glasses on, he was like a changed person. His eyes were small, looked bored if not angry. Honestly, it was _scary_. And yet, when he continued, it didn't quite hold up.

“Unfortunately, I'm unable to relate to that, for, unlike you, I've grown into this life since the day I was born. I don't understand your family-talk, and I don't want to. If it truly is what you want, I can't stop you from leaving-”

He chuckled darkly at his own words, shook his head and took a deep breath.

“Of course I could…either way – if you try to leave, I'll have to kill you. I won't whitewash that fact, because I'm serious. If I don't, someone else might, and if you really think that'll be fast and painless, I have bad news for you.”

“Why d'you give a shit?”

“Huh?”

“You literally said you don't want to understand my family-talk. So why d'you fuckin' care about the way I die? Your whole attitude makes no sense.”

Instead of answering, Akira took a look around, found whatever he was looking for on the nightstand and pointed it at the TV – it was the remote, quite obviously. He switched through channels until he landed on some random news, just in time for a report on a rape-murder case. Nodding at the TV, he explained.

“I don't live under a rock – when I said I don't want to understand, I meant it on a personal level. However, I can admit that fate played you into my hand and you wouldn't be here otherwise.”

_Oh, how considerate._

“It's one thing to die, and another to do so in cruel, horrifying ways, right? I'm sure there's someone out there who'd care if something like this happened to you. I don't intend on you dying, but if there is no choice, I will make sure that it's painless. That's all I can tell you right now.”

That was so far from a proper explanation still, but Ryuji didn't have the time to complain about it, because Akira dropped the remote, now yet again an arrogant smile on his face, head slightly tilted, and got up, heading for the door.

“I'll be out tonight, there's a job I need to get done. Help yourself in all the rooms that aren't locked. You'll probably want to avoid Hanged Man still.”

“Hanged Man?”

“Ah, the brute guy from yesterday.”

And before Ryuji could comment on how that was the most ridiculous nickname of the bunch so far, Akira continued:

“Navi usually calls him Gun-Dad, if you like that better.”

“Screw you, man.”

He laughed, waved childishly and finally left. It was then that Ryuji noticed how tensed up he was, his hand clutching the blanket tightly, his eyes furrowed, his toes tucked up and his whole mind on alert. The news-report had switched to an interview with that one pretty detective guy the whole country seemed to be drooling over, Goro Akechi.

In all honesty,  Ryuji couldn't stand the guy, even though it wasn't really his fault. Whenever he was featured anywhere, people were more over  _him_ than actually interested in the cases he tried to solve. Maybe it made sense, because he had that pretty-boy smile, but it was still incredibly annoying. Either way, the guy was smart, and it wasn't a secret that he was extremely talented, too, having solved incredibly hard cases at his young age.

“… _There is currently no proof of him being the culprit, and the way it was done leads me to the suspicion that it was someone else trying to impose on his ways of killing…”_

Already getting a headache from the smart-talk, Ryuji decided to turn of the TV and catch up on some sleep instead, because he hadn't really been able to get any the night before. At least it was a thousand times more comfortable than the rusty, small bed back in his prison room, right?

Yet, that didn't keep him from shooting up out of a nightmare he didn't even remember the second he woke up. He was sweating, panting heavily, and pressed his eyes shut to keep a headache from coming up.

_Shit_ .

It was another very long shower later that he decided on trying to find some sort of kitchen, because  _damn_ was he starving. The stress had let him forget about that so far, but his body wasn't very happy about the negligence. He decided to check downstairs first, and ran right into the short-haired woman from the car who'd given him the look of death. She herself hadn't noticed him yet, instead focusing on something on her phone and talking to someone.

“…You need to take this more seriously. I know it's a routine-mission with little risk, but you'll be _alone_ as soon as- Oh.”

Now she'd noticed Ryuji, and she stopped right in front of him, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. Her piercing eyes were almost scarier than Akira's whole attitude, but Ryuji still tried to act all casually by burying his hands in his pockets and withstanding her gaze. He didn't plan on provoking her unnecessarily, but if she wanted bad blood so much, why would he give in?

“I'm aware of that, Queen. You're still too worried about things.”

_Queen?!_

He rolled his eyes at the name, although he probably should've expected for them to get weirder with each one of them. Now all they needed was some sort of catgirl and he'd officially  _scream_ .

However, he couldn't quite focus on how much he disliked every single of the nicknames when Akira made his way out of the living room as well – they'd most likely held a meeting in the basement,  for wherever this  _mission_ was going, but oh  _hell_ , it wasn't like Ryuji could care less.

There was Akira – okay, check. He was wearing a classy suit that looked way too stupidly normal on him, combined with annoyingly red gloves, as if he was planning on standing out – check. To top it all off, he was wearing a freaking  _mask_ , and even that didn't manage to disfigure him in the slightest. He'd throw his head into a wall for the thought much later, but right now all Ryuji could think was-

_Holy shit, why's he so smokin' hot?!_

“Ah, Skull, right on time. If you have a moment-”

“-We're leaving in five minutes. _Sharp_ , Joker.”

“I could never forget, Queen. Believe me, I tried.”

Without giving her a look, Akira walked right past her and pulled Ryuji into the room right across, closing the door and flicking the light on. It was a comparatively small dining room, leading right into an open kitchen – honestly, it looked perfectly comfortable, way more so than the huge living room or the study upstairs.

“I have a…request, you could say.”

“Spill it, dude.”

Even if Akira was carefree as shit about all of this, it didn't mean Ryuji wanted anyone's rage for keeping the guy here or anything, and he knew that someone _would_ shift the blame on him in some way.

“Navi will be supervising the mission – she's a genius, and highly talented. However, unlike everyone else here…”

“Oh yeah, I know. She doesn't seem much like an uptight, careless bitch.”

“Right. I know it sounds weird, but… I'm sure she'd appreciate some company tonight.”

That was it?

He couldn't help but laugh, because that was so much more innocent of a request than he'd ever imagined. Sure, he hadn't learned much about Navi yet, so he couldn't truly say if she was nicer than the rest, but as far as he'd noticed yet, she was different – enough so that maybe she'd explain at least a few things about Akira that Ryuji would never be able to get out of _him_ directly.

“That it?”

“Yes.”

_Weird._

“Yeah, whatever, sure, I don't mind.”

“Splendid. One of the books functions as a button. It's labeled _Seventy-eight degrees,_ I'm sure you'll find it. I'll be on my way then.”

“Break a leg. …Actually, figures you honestly might, so I shouldn't say that, huh? Be safe out there, I guess.”

It was supposed to be a carefree way of saying _bye_ , but somehow, it seemed to confuse Akira, for his expression dropped slightly, if only for a moment before he grinned smugly and nodded, then turning to leave. Wherever he was going, it seemed to be some sort of masquerade, and it reminded Ryuji of the fact that he was actually supposed to get such a goofy mask as well – although he honestly doubted it'd look as good on himself.

But he'd worry about that later. For now, he would grab some food – more than necessary, come to think of it, for he doubted that Navi ever ate enough – and try to get some of the heavily needed answers about what was going on in this place and why.

“This so ain't gonna be fun, is it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Look, it's entirely fine to have the hots for some crazy dude if they're as smokin' as Akira.~~


	5. Breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~They're all idiots and I love them~~  
>  SO MUCH DIALOGUE I still need to find a proper balance for that, I think.

As a side-note, the kitchen was _incredible_. Whoever took care of the grocery shopping in this weird living arrangement was absolutely insane, but in all the good ways – not to mention the one who'd come up with the design choices. Sadly, Ryuji didn't want to waste too much time up here, for he took Akira's request seriously enough. Whatever the mission was, it was probably dangerous, and leaving Navi alone for too long…

Maybe it was this vibe of innocence that she radiated, but Ryuji simply didn't want to be late. So instead of focusing on any exquisite choice of meal, he went with eggs and fried rice – always a winner in his personal opinion – and headed for the hidden pathway. Now what was the book-

_Oh, as if._

If the back of it gave away anything,  it was about tarot cards, and yet again Ryuji's mind screamed  _EXTRA_ about Akira's whole attitude, but whatever. He pushed the book in and the door did indeed open, revealing the hidden path once again.  Same as before, Navi was still sitting hunched over in her chair, and it almost looked like she hadn't gotten up even once.

“You sure are dedicated,” Ryuji simply said, shamelessly setting the bowls down and grabbing a chair to sit right next to her. The countless screens showed a dozen or so different places, although the whole atmosphere and the _many_ people made it seem like it all belonged to the same building – which, to say it politely, looked like it belonged to some spoiled-ass CEO or some shit, really. Without even looking at him, Navi made a confused sound.

“What are you doing down here?”

“Well…”

He couldn't possible tell her that he was supposed to keep her company, for he didn't want to sound like a wannabe-babysitter; from the looks of it, she seemed to be able to take care of herself well enough down here, and there was nothing she needed to be protected of.

“Ain't much else t'do, and I'm curious, y'know?”

At least that wasn't a lie. Wherever Akira was going, Ryuji really wanted to know, including the  _why_ and  _how_ . He couldn't even pin down if it was his seemingly masochistic curiosity waiting to see Akira mercilessly kill more people, or if he honestly hoped he'd not be faced with anything worrisome. If asked, though, he'd probably respond with the latter.

“Huh, it's not that great, though.”

“Can't get worse than sitting elsewhere without a goddamn clue about what's happenin'.”

Well, she didn't command him to leave, so he figured it was alright, but knew to shut up when she started switching between the main cameras and talked to someone via her headset.

“The access item is the small ebony-tin I gave you earlier. Make sure to show it at the entrance, then hide it under your coat well.”

The whole ordeal was truly insane, and Ryuji figured he might have cut Akira too little slack when calling him a mindless psychopath, for the way he made his way not only into the building but through it spoke volumes about his levels of composure and skill. Meanwhile, Navi had the mercy to explain.

“He's delivering a certain substance to a client for a rather generous amount of money, so it really isn't a big deal. Unless he's found out during it, of course.”

Her voice cracked just a bit, and that was when Ryuji understand what Akira had meant earlier. She was incredibly talented in what she was doing, and he doubted that missions would go smoothly without her around – but it was quite obvious that she was scared, too.

“He'll be fine as long as you don't give up, ain't that right?”

For the first time ever since Ryuji had joined her, she turned her head, tilted it to the side and blinked vividly.

“That…ohh! That makes me sound like some sort of protagonist.”

…Really?

“Y-yeah…I'm sure. I mean, you seem important for these missions to carry out.”

There were muffled noises coming from her headset, and she turned back to the screens without hesitation, switching through the cameras before she got to the one that had Akira on it, with him of course having the audacity to just smugly stare into it and wink. What a goddamn prick, for starters.

“You got the other envelope? Make sure it has the crest on it. As soon as the dancing starts, you head for the balcony and climb off. _Climb,_ Joker.”

The accusative sound in her voice didn't make much sense to Ryuji, at least until the main display switched again, this time to an outer-camera facing a balcony. When Akira, yet again, winked at the camera before leaping off the building like a madman, Ryuji understood, and he couldn't help but groan in annoyance – chuckling when he realized Navi did the same.

“He's such a drama queen sometimes.”

_Sometimes._

“That's it?”

She put the headset down and nodded, turning her chair around enough so they were facing each other.

“Yeah, this was pretty simple, they haven't even been out for three hours, have they? But our reward grants us access to a more important mission later.”

That didn't explain too much yet, but there was still time. Hoping to break the ice a bit, Ryuji finally found himself able to nod towards the bowls he'd brought with him – sure, cold food wasn't the greatest, but better than none.

“Huh? Woooah!!!”

Her excitement was incredibly endearing, just as much as her eyes going wide when she tried the food and gave him an encouraging nod.

“Hey, you're actually pretty useful! I'd say I hope it isn't poisoned, but unlike the others here, I trust Akira's choice in people.”

And there it was – the undeniable truth that her relationship to Akira was different –  she didn't even use his codename. They seemingly weren't just  partners in crime. Maybe friends? A couple even? Although the thought of such an innocent-looking girl being with such a freak was a bit frightening. Instead of mentioning any of that, though, Ryuji decided this was now or never.

“Y'see, about that…I still dunno why he let me live, let alone brought me here, and I don't think I'll surprise you if I say he acts like a freakin' snitch about it and doesn't explain.”

They sat in silence for a while, each of them occupied with the food, although Navi was obviously thinking about what to say. Funnily enough, that was already so much more than the half-assed non-explanations Ryuji had gotten until now, and he appreciated the fact that he wasn't being ignored or treated like a nuisance here yet.

“I think he's just lonely. D-don't ever tell him I said that!”

She almost dropped her bowl at the words, and Ryuji would've had to lie if he claimed that his fingers didn't slip a bit, too.  _Lonely_ ? So he  _was_ some kind of amusement to Akira, it seemed. But was it really worth keeping someone around who'd already seen him tower over a corpse before, knowing how incredibly dangerous he was?

“He killed a guy right next to me while I was sleepin', and showed me the body like a damn treasure. That ain't striking me as a friendship-foundation.”

“But you're still here.”

He frowned, crossed his legs and shook his head to indicate he didn't understand. Of course he was here – what big choice had there been?

“I…I mean. Even so, you're still _here_ , trying to understand him, right? That's more than anyone I've ever seen him try to bond with has done before.”

_Try to bond?!_

Ryuji couldn't help but laugh. If there was a single thing Akira hadn't done, it was that. He was incredibly evasive about every single thing Ryuji asked or said, always acted like a know-it-all who needed to prove a point, and, just to mention it again, didn't hesitate to use violence or even just kill. But then again, what he'd said earlier…

“What? _He just doesn't know better_? That's a goddamn shitty excuse. He knows that what he's doing is bad, and he doesn't care!”

“Not true! If he didn't care, you'd be dead!”

He swallowed. But that was exactly the point he didn't understand. How do you ruthlessly kill someone who's in your way but then let someone else live even though they try to break your face? Who was to say that Akira wouldn't suddenly change his mind and decide that Ryuji was an enemy, too? If that were to happen, he at least wanted to be prepared for it.

“Right. Might still happen, don't you think.”

“He's ruthless, not fickle! If I had to guess, he appreciates that you stand up to him, but still don't treat him like a kid – b-but I'm not very good with socializing, s-so what do I know…”

They fell silent, and Ryuji used the time to consider. He at least couldn't entirely deny Navi's words; Akira _did_ seem at least mildly interested in him for reasons, and so far, he'd held back on every instance except for cutting his goddamn neck, even when told to fuck himself. So there was composure in him, somewhere – it was just hard to grasp when he deemed it necessary enough to care and especially why. But if Ryuji honestly considered playing a part in this charade, then…

Did he even _want_ to be Akira's friend, anyway?

The question still bothered him, even when Navi announced that both Akira and Queen had returned, and Ryuji took it as a good cue to get out of here. No matter what, he didn't want anything to do with their weird meetings, and he _especially_ didn't want to meet this Hanged Man guy again when Akira wasn't around.

_How pathetic._

“Thanks, by the way. I'm still confused, but I guess that's part of the deal, huh?”

“Y-yeah. Hey, thanks for the food, right?”

Why was she turning red?

“Y-you can just call me Futaba, by the way. I don't mind.”

“Will do.”

That was so much better than calling her Navi, really, and it made him smile when he headed back up with their dishes. To his misfortune, he was unlucky enough to run _right_ into Akira and Queen yet again. The bowls in his hands immediately turned into something to cling on, as little as he liked admitting it.

“Right, you're still here. Hope you didn't try anything.”

And because he wasn't interested in seeing Akira – who yet again had the motionless death-stare on his face that Ryuji couldn't stand at _all_ – fight with his self-proclaimed superiors yet again, he couldn't keep himself from answering.

“Geez, lady, is there a single word of positivity in your vocabulary or nah?”

Her eyes widened, mouth a disbelieving O, and the fact that Akira chuckled next to her didn't help the situation at all.

“You don't even realize how thin the ice you're walking on is, do you?”

“Eh, I've seen this dude aim a phone's flashlight at a corpse in the middle of my bedroom. Sorry, but you don't scare me a tad.”

She was still staring, and Ryuji took the fleeting moment to disappear back to the kitchen and take extra-time to clean the dishes. This wasn't good in the slightest. As much as he craved getting some of his extra-energy out, as much as he didn't want these people to treat him like a goddamn brat, like he had _asked_ to be here, he also knew that it wasn't _clever._ As soon as Akira was gone for even the shortest period of time, any of them could do anything to Ryuji, and he doubted that Queen would be one to hesitate very long to teach him a lesson.

When he stepped back out to the main hall, hoping that he could just sneak back to his room silently, he probably shouldn't have been too surprised to be disappointed.

“Ah, I was wondering if you'd ever get out of there.”

Akira was leaning against the wall next to the door, still wearing the suit and turning the mask in his hands. There was an indescribable kind of satisfaction spread across his face when he looked up, and Ryuji remembered the words he'd shared with Futaba earlier. Maybe he really did just have to try, as little sense as it made.

“That chick is goddamn furious, I wasn't sure if it was safe, dude.”

“Queen is…well, she tends to think she knows better, and that I need her guidance at all times. I promise she won't try to harm you, though.”

Well, yeah, luckily enough, if Ryuji was scared of anyone in this place hurting him, there surely were two candidates striking him stronger than her, that much was for sure.

“Y-yeah, I guess. There, uh, somethin' you needed from me?”

The fiddling stopped, Akira's eyes widened and he turned away, sighing deeply. For the first time, his glass-less face didn't look scary, but actually vulnerable, and Ryuji had to force himself to walk ahead to keep himself from feeling sorry. He hadn't yet been given a single reason to feel that way, and he wasn't going to let it happen for nothing.

“Not really, no. I just…”

The hesitation made Ryuji _furious_ , and he turned back around with an eyebrow raised, ready to give Akira a piece of his mind about how volatile his emotions seemed to be. If he at least made up his goddamn mind about what he wanted…

“Look, I'm a fuckin' simple guy. There somethin' ya wanna say, say it. If not, don't. Stop playing this _I'm so shy I can't say it_ bullcrap, because I don't fuckin' believe you.”

“Is that so?”

He watched the insecure expression turn into annoyance, Akira tilting his head just enough for it to look poised and arrogant. This was a lot better. When he acted insecurely, it made Ryuji believe he was talking to a person he had a reason to feel sorry for. Like this, though, he could remind himself that he was talking to someone reckless, a murderer, the last kind of person anyone in their sane mind would possibly want to bond with. It didn't change the main problem – him still not knowing what it truly was that made Akira keep him around – but at least like that, he didn't have to worry about getting emotional.

"Well then, it truly isn't anything important. I just felt the genuine need to check up on you."

"Oh, thanks mom."

Shit, bad thought. That only reminded him of the fact that his mom was most likely worried sick, and how much he wanted to see her. Ryuji made a weird, pained face and turned around to leave, much to Akira's obvious dismay.

"It's not my intention to act like a parent, Ryuji."

"Bad news then, dude, you're already there. Either way, let's not fuckin' talk here, I hate your weird companions."

By some sort of unspoken agreement, they both returned up the stairs together and back to the room he now officially claimed his own – that was something he could do to feel like a little less of a stranger here, at least. The sheets were a mess, which wasn't surprising considering the horrible kind of dream he'd awoken from earlier. Other than that, it was still stunningly beautiful, really.

They both settled down on the bed like the main characters in a very bad trash-movie, and the worst part was that Akira, yet again, managed to look stunning, even with his coat hanging off his shoulders loosely and his shirt being all wrinkled and halfway pulled out of his pants as if he'd fiddled with it too much; considering how that seemed to be a weird overall habit of his, he probably had.

"Man, you look kinda goofy, y'know? But the suit...ugh, forgive me. Suits you."

For whatever reason, they both laughed, and it was entirely carefree, reminding Ryuji of the first few times they'd hit the gym together back in prison. He couldn't deny there were certain aspects about Akira that he could find himself liking at least a bit, and that maybe for now, that could be enough, as long as he tried.

"I appreciate that. I am however eager to get out of this now, for it served its current purpose. Unlike, hmm..."

The smile on his lips was devilish, and he moved way too fast for Ryuji to react to, pushing him into the mattress with one hand and swiftly sitting on his hips yet again. So much for being vulnerable or approachable, right? He'd returned to being a goddamn arrogant prick in basically no time.

"You could...help me out of this."

His voice was dark and teasing, but the huge grin on his lips gave Ryuji the confidence to sigh and roll his eyes. As long as he didn't give in or show how much anything that happened between them was getting to him, he could keep the upper-hand, right?

"Sure, dude, as you can see, I can barely keep my hands to myself."

He fought his brain trying to argue with him that the sight was indeed rather pleasing, though. There was no way in absolute _hell_ that he'd let some good looks deceive his knowledge of what this guy was capable of. He could admit it to himself, sure, but in no way would he let it cloud his better judgment.

“Too bad, really. You're missing out.”

“Yeah, I'm sure. Fill me in on those kinks of yours another time, will you?”

A high-pitched sound left his throat when a hand grabbed his side, nails firmly digging into the sensitive skin before tracing down to his waistband, Akira's eyes still digging into his own as if he were searching for something.

“I…”

He leaned down, his lips yet again far too close, his fingers unmoving on Ryuji's hip, his other hand grabbing the sheets tightly enough that it would leave wrinkles on them. There was no way he was up to any good, and no way Ryuji should let him go on, but Akira's breath was so warm, so welcoming, the simple touch of his messy hair on Ryuji's skin so _overwhelming_ -

“I'm sorry.”

It was but a mumble before Akira pushed himself up and left the room within the shortest imaginable seconds, leaving Ryuji staring at the ceiling blankly, trying to understand what was going on and why, and why he'd found himself unmoving, losing himself in those weirdly pretty, _definitely_ vulnerable eyes he wished he could immediately forget again.

On the spot, he decided that befriending Akira was officially the dumbest idea he could ever possibly consider. And at the same time, he found himself realizing that it was the exact thing he was going to do first thing in the morning.

“Goddamn it.”


	6. Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This...took somewhat longer, eh?  
> It's a bit sad that I have so much trouble with writing genuine, "normal" scenes >_>  
>  ~~Akira still likes his weird pacts, sorry not sorry.~~

The mask sat a little _too_ well on Ryuji's face for his personal liking. Sure, Fox had taken measurements of his face for it, but that wasn't an excuse for the thing to fit as if it goddamn belonged there.

“Well, this looks rather acceptable, if I may say so myself.”

“Yes, I agree, it turned out great.”

He sighed audibly.

“It's wonderful – can I take it off? I still don't get the deal.”

To be fair, he didn't even wait for an answer, simply because he didn't care, and just took it off immediately. Maybe one day, he'd learn the purpose of the thing, but for now, he handed it over to Akira.

“Dude, I wouldn't even know where to put it, and you seem invested.”

“Mh. Fine then. Well. Thank you, Fox.”

They left the weird art room _yet again_ , and Ryuji decided it was as much of a chance as he'd ever get, so he grabbed Akira's arm before he could flee – which, really, it looked like he was planning to do – and forced him to wait.

“Is there a problem?”

Oh _Jesus_ , he could turn hostile in half a second, couldn't he? But Ryuji knew how to be stubborn, too, in fact very intensely so, and he wasn't going to back down due to a semi-mad look from Akira. He'd seen the guy tower over a corpse, for fucks sake, was he actually thinking that this mopey mood of his had any proper chance against that?

“You said I can leave this place with ya, right? Well, I wanna.”

A thin eyebrow raised judgmentally, but Akira also couldn't hide his obvious interest. As much as he apparently didn't want to interact after last night's weird event between the two of them, Ryuji felt like Futaba's words might have been even truer than she'd known.

“So I'm good enough to be your escort, hm?”

_Don't react to it, don't fight, don't throw your fist into that cocky look on his face._

“Sure, if that makes ya feel better. I'd much prefer to go as, you know, regular people? Like, you and me, two dudes as normal as they can get, and not raise any suspicion? But hey, you're the clever one.”

He took a step back in advance, and luckily so, because that way the force with which Akira pressed him into the wall was way smaller than it could have been. Ryuji allowed himself to be a little proud of how he was adjusting to these abrupt actions – not that it meant he liked them any better. He knew that it would be wise not to push Akira _too_ far, but if he wanted to fight so badly, it couldn't really be helped.

“Aren't you funny again?”

…then again, he'd kind of promised Futaba that he'd try, and she was too nice of a person to not go through with such a promise.

“Dude, why are we even fightin' now? Whatever I did to you last night, I'm sorry, alright? I admit you're the only one I can trust, and I just wanna get the hell outta here for a while, so yeah, you gotta be my escort, but can you really fuckin' blame me?”

He had absolutely no idea which of the words he'd said had been the right one, but Akira's eyes widened, he let go and took a step back, a suspicious yet interested look on his face. If only he could stop being mysterious for five minutes, Ryuji would be so happy, but for now, he simply crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly.

“Where do you want to go?”

_Home. To my mom. Assure her I'm fine. I miss her. Shit, she's probably heartbroken._

“Eh, doesn't matter. Anythin' to look at. Haven't seen some proper sport shoes first-hand in, what? Four months now?”

It wasn't even a lie – he truly wanted to just go look at some normal stuff for a change again. Wasn't like he had any money to begin with, or any way of getting some in the near future, but that wasn't what it was about, either. He simply needed to feel a tad of normality again, even if only as much so as Akira's presence allowed him to feel.

“That's it?”

“Pretty much. Sorry?”

But Akira only shook his head, buried his hands in his pockets and looked away as if he wasn't yet sure what to say. Where was the big deal about it, though? It wasn't like Ryuji was planning on fleeing the country or anything dangerous – he simply wanted to get out of this shithole.

“Fine then, I guess. I'll get Queen to drop us off in the city.”

Oh _great_. Ryuji was sure the slightly intimidating self-proclaimed mother of this troublemaker would absolutely love the idea of the two of them spending time somewhere out of her personal reach. In all honesty, though, he couldn't _entirely_ blame her. The idea of letting Akira run free wasn't exactly promising to him, either.

 

Less than half an hour later, Ryuji could feel himself ease up in the crowds. It was like being able to breathe for the first time in days, if not actually months, and he couldn't help grinning like an idiot at the smallest things – like a dog circling around his legs happily, or a small girl giving him the sweetest smile when he caught her balloon when it was flying away.

It was probably because of his own happiness, him _rejoicing_ about being around regular, normal people on an everyday street, that it took him a considerable amount of time to realize that he was very alone with that positivity. But when he stopped in front of a shop window a little off the main street and took a short look at the sport's wear, he felt a body press against his side lightly.

“Huh?”

“I hate people.”

It was but a soft mutter, his hands buried in his pockets like always, eyes focused somewhere on the ground between them. They were barely touching, but it sufficed for Ryuji to swallow hard and immediately feel bad – _feel bad_ , for Akira, the whole and entire reason all of this bullshit in Ryuji's life happening. He suppressed a sigh and closed his eyes for but a second; he was more than this. Sure, he could decide to enjoy the fact that Akira was apparently suffering in these crowds, _afraid_ of something even, but that would be so, _so_ low.

“Let's go in there for a breath, dude.”

They did, and he eased up a bit, adjusted his glasses and automatically headed for a corner with close to no people in it. Naturally, Ryuji followed along, however keeping a safe distance between them nonetheless. As it turned out, there was no need to, because Akira had already calmed down enough to breathe calmly, his expression neutral again. Still, Ryuji couldn't help but feel sorry; after all, coming here had been his idea.

“Sorry, man. Didn't know you're bad with crowds.”

“You couldn't have. It's fine normally, when I can just disappear into the shadows, but…”

He had to take a step closer when Akira lowered his voice even further, his eyes wandering through the shop in caution; like a wild animal, he was always on alert.

“I'm not used to looking after company.”

_Looking after?_

“Uh, don't get me wrong, but…this' a regular central street, I highly doubt someone will just knife me from behind for good measure, man.”

“I am less convinced about that. There's always a chance of someone recognizing _me_ and then targeting _you._ ”

This so sounded like a bad action movie, and the worst part was that Akira was putting Ryuji into the role of the stereotypical defenseless woman that really only existed in the movie to get kidnapped and be the protagonists love interest.

Needless to say, he was interested in neither of those features.

“Well, fine. If you're uncomfy, we should head outta here.”

“No.”

If only he could make up his _goddamn mind!_

“Do your business, whatever it is, just…”

Lowering his head, Akira took another step closer, eyes never quite leaving the people he was inspecting, as if he were only waiting for something bad to happen.

“Let me stay close to you.”

Oh, _really_.

Ryuji didn't reply anything, simply shrugged shortly and decided to take the chance of already being here and headed for the aisle with his favorite shoes. It was but a memory now, running until his lungs gave out, even more so professionally, but he'd long since accepted that. Still, the leathery touch in his hands, the soft fabric slightly giving in to the pressure of his thumbs and index fingers…it didn't fail to make him at least a bit emotional.

“You ran track in school?”

It was probably for the best not to ask why Akira knew.

“Yeah. Actually even after that. Y'know, got a scholarship 'n all. Then my leg broke due to some dumb incident, and shit was over.”

For now, keeping details on said incident to himself sounded smarter than just telling Akira – and honestly, if he wanted to find out so badly, he could probably ask Futaba for the information; couldn't really be that hard to find.

“You miss it?”

“Don't turn the knife, man. Course I miss it. I still trained in my free time before…you know.”

Without a warning, Akira snatched the shoe from his hands and inspected it skeptically, as if looking at it failed to give him the same kind of information that it gave Ryuji. He was so obviously _insane_ , it wasn't even funny.

“Pick it back up, then.”

Laughing dryly, Ryuji dug deep into the pants of his pockets and pulled the inside of the fabric out a bit dramatically, but was clever enough to whisper his next words.

“Man, these pants ain't even mine, and unfortunately, they didn't come with a credit card or cash in their pockets, either.”

Seriously, the joke wasn't that bad – not good, either, and maybe a bit too low considering how true it was, but did he deserve Akira looking at him unmoving for it, with the sternest expression one could possibly wear? It was almost a bit offending. Then, out of nowhere, he announced:

“I'll get them for you.”

Ryuji choked on his breath.

“Exc- what? Hell no, dude. What the shit are ya, my sugar daddy? Wait, stop, don't you fuckin' dare answer that question.”

But Akira, self-indulgently extra as always, was already kneeling down and put the shoe right next to Ryuji's foot, apparently a bit surprised that it seemed to be a perfect fit – which, excuse him, _of course_ it was; Ryuji'd been wearing the same model for years before his imprisonment. Either way, before he had an honest chance to make it clear that he _really_ didn't approve of this – for it was simply _embarrassing_ and dumb – Akira was already up again with the respective carton holding the second shoe in his hand.

“I don't want you to be my, what was it again? _Hostage._ ”

“That's beside the point. I'm still not your child and-”

“Skull.”

He cringed badly at the nickname, but considering Akira's panic around random people, it probably made sense to use them.

“Stop turning it into more trouble than it is. We made a vow, and I have to take responsibility for that, too. Now, if you're done here, it's getting crowded, and I don't like it.”

Truth be told, there were suddenly a lot of people entering the store, and if there was a thing Ryuji didn't need, it was Akira rioting in the midst of some masses and hurting someone, so he simply nodded and looked away, still in a decent chunk of embarrassment. Luckily, they made it out before anything bad could happen, and Ryuji decided not to bring the topic back up.

The rest of their rather questionable shopping tour went by relatively easily, although he couldn't quite shake off the weird feeling of being so close – it was like being a celebrity and their bodyguard, and that idea was very unpleasing to him in general, but even more so considering Akira's ruthless attitude of _act-first-care-too-little-to-think-at-all._ Eventually though, they were on their way to the meeting point with Queen, stopping by a convenience store to quench Akira's sudden thirst for some shitty to-go coffee – and if anyone were to ask Ryuji, he'd bet a fortune on Akira only wasting extra-time to piss Queen off.

Naturally, though, the day couldn't just end peacefully, and it was when they were finally making their way through some backstreets towards the meeting point that this sad reality hit Ryuji right in the face. Times like these, he couldn't help but question how he deserved any of this.

“I-I swear, I don't know about any of th-this. Please, I don't have…”

The voice was faint, but familiar enough for him to turn his head into the direction it came from – and his senses were right enough. Pressed against a wall by sheer force, a huge bruise on his forehead indicating that he had already taken quite a beating, was no one but Yuuki Mishima, one of Ryuji's formerly best friends; and the second-last person he wanted to see in such a situation, right after his mother.

Without even so much as a second thought, he was heading in the direction of his friend, barely snapping out of his semi-trance when he was being held back forcefully.

“Skull, stop. These things happen. Don't get yourself into trouble.”

“That's your goddamn stance on this?”

He shook the hand off violently and took a step away from Akira, glaring at him angrily. Even if it were a stranger, how could anyone care so little not to help them or at least try? Yes, maybe Ryuji would get in trouble himself for getting involved, but leaving someone be and risking them being injured or even _murdered…?!_

But instead of answering, Akira just glared back, apparently think that'd be enough to convince Ryuji of giving up – needless to say, it wasn't, and without another word, he already turned around to hurry and help his friend in need. He barely made it three meters or so before being held back again, yet before he had the time to complain or fight back, he was pushed into the wall lightly and Akira passed him by.

“Fine. I'll handle it, then.”

_No?!_

Then again, he was highly capable when it came to self-defense, so what could possibly go wrong-

Everything went wrong, almost as much as it ever could. Instead of _fighting_ , what Ryuji had expected him to do, Akira was _very_ quick in his single smooth motion of pulling a knife out of his pocket and using it, and not in a way that left many questions – in other words, he grabbed the attacker's shoulder, turned him around and aimed right for the center of his ribcage; it was scary to think that he probably knew exactly where to hit in order not to get stopped by a bone.

The whole thing took maybe five seconds, and Ryuji was still in a heavy state of shock, unable to comprehend what exactly was going on, trying to understand why there was a dead, bleeding man on the street few meters from him, when Akira turned and grabbed _Yuuki._ At least then, Ryuji could move again, stumbling over in panic, reaching for Akira's wrist before he could go for another kill.

“Shit, dude, have you gone _nuts_?!”

“He knows too much.”

There was no judgment in his voice, no anger, it was as if he were simply stating a scientific fact when trying to justify himself wanting to _murder_ a goddamn _innocent_. As if things weren't bad enough already, Yuuki turned his head in shock, breathing sharply, blinking twice before shakily asking:

“R-Ryuji? What are you doing here?”

Well, that was indeed a good question, considering he was supposed to be in jail for another eight months – a fact which his friend knew about well, he'd even visited him once. However, it was also a very bad question, for Akira's hand twitched, and his eyes widened when he turned to look at Ryuji as well.

“You _know him?”_

He wasn't really asking, so there was no reason to reply, however Ryuji still tried to get him to lower his hand – the fact that he was grabbing Yuuki's collar so hard that it almost counted as choking was bad enough already. This was horrible, things had suddenly gone so, _so_ wrong and Ryuji wondered if he could have really done anything to prevent that. Would it be better if he truly never left his new prison again? It was more comfortable than the last one, but nonetheless lonely, and it hurt him to think that going out today had been a bad choice.

“Wonderful.”

Eventually, Akira lowered his arm enough for Ryuji to dare and let go, although he motioned to Yuuki to not move a damn muscle by shaking his head slowly. Luckily, the message came across.

“You're lucky, pretty boy.”

Akira's voice was like silk; silent, soft and smooth, but when he slowly raised his hand again and put the knife right under Yuuki's chin, slightly pushing it up a bit, his whole presence turned into something way too dangerous, way too _scary._ Needless to say, the mindless smile on his lips didn't help, nor did the fact that he was raising his head just so he could look down on his victim a little better.

“You'll forget this ever happened. You've seen neither of us, you haven't even been here. If I hear a thing about you spilling a single word – and believe me, I have good ears, and I have them _everywhere_ -”

He slowly traced the knife down Yuuki's chin and over his aorta as if proving a point.

“I'll make sure to skin you slowly and painfully, with a wonderfully rusty, dull knife. You'll suffocate on your own screams, I promise you that. Are we clear?”

And because the blade was still too close, neither could Yuuki just nod nor did Ryuji feel brave enough to step in.

“Y-Yes. C-Crystal clear.”

“It's a deal, then, hm?”

Suddenly, Akira let go, turned on his heel and barely gave Ryuji the chance to look apologetic before already pulling him along, the knife already back in his pocket. Neither of them said a single word, not even when Queen called them out for being late, not when they firmly met Futaba in the hallway, and not on their way up the stairs, but even though Ryuji wanted nothing but to go find the bathroom and puke his soul out for what had just happened, Akira obviously had to force himself onto him and pull him through the hallway. They didn't stop at Ryuji's new room, which was both encouraging and frightening, and instead headed for a room further in.

Honestly, it didn't need a mastermind to see that it was the place Akira would call his on _bedroom_. There was hardly any furniture – a bed, a crafting table, a small bookshelf and a cabinet with a dozen or more of small and large drawers. Part of Ryuji wondered what might be in them, but at the same time, he wasn't too eager on finding out.

He wouldn't have had a chance to ask either way, for Akira was – for the fifth time or so today – way too close again, hands buried into Ryuji's collar as if he were holding onto dear life, his eyes both empty and full with anticipation, with questions he seemingly didn't hope ever finding the answers to.

“Promise me something, Ryuji.”

Some sort of pressure fell off of him, of both of them, at the sound of using real names again. Instead of answering, he tilted his head. If he dared to speak, his voice would probably betray his stern face.

“If anyone finds out I let someone else live after seeing me like that, they…won't be too happy. So, this is between you and me, alright?”

Since he hadn't planned on telling anyone about it – _whom_ would he tell, anyway?! - he simply nodded, semi-consciously deciding to reach for Akira's hands with his own, maybe to stop him from getting as violent as with Yuuki, maybe to assure himself of the soft trembling in them, the fact that there was at least _something_ human in Akira.

“Fine, dude. I…I can't believe you just…”

It would be smarter not to say it, to never bring back up the fact that he had swiftly, without a second thought, killed a random stranger on the street. It sounded like a bad movie – _yet again_ , Ryuji thought ironically. Even if Yuuki had immediately left the scenery, there were always chances of someone finding out that he was involved in it.

“I didn't want you to think lowly of me, Ryuji. I…still don't want that. What else should I have done, then?”

Was he actually considering taking _advice_ on how to act better?

“Well, I mean! B-Beats me, honestly, I'm just thrown off 'cause ya didn't even so much as…y'know, flinch at murdering someone. Shit, this is so…so goddamn foreign and I…screw it.”

They were close, so close, _too close_ , and it made Ryuji emotional enough that it scared him. As much as he wanted to push Akira away, run and run _and run_ until he couldn't run anymore, do anything to flee from this horrible, way too real nightmare; he also longed for the electrifying touch on his skin, the way his cheek was cupped as if the hand _belonged there_ , and he forced himself to move forward enough for their bodies to lean against each other's, and close his eyes. It wasn't a hug, but it also wasn't really _not a hug_ , and that made it both awkward and comforting at once.

“I see. I apologize for my escorting going so horribly wrong.”

But that wasn't even the problem, and maybe it was the point that made Ryuji the maddest. As much as he wanted to think the same, he found it hard. If they hadn't been there, what would have become of Yuuki? If Akira hadn't been there, how would Ryuji have gotten out of the situation? Would he have gotten out of it?

As much as he hated it, as much as he blamed Akira for ruining his life, it was currently him who kept it together, who made sure Ryuji was safe both inside of their weird new home and outside of it.

“Nah, it ain't your fault, I guess. Y'know, up until then, it wasn't too bad.”

Except for Akira being afraid of masses, to be fair. But maybe they could avoid something like that, too, if they simply chose less crowded places to go.

“I'll have to say, I was a lot less uncomfortable than I had originally feared.”

It sounded a bit like a compliment, and maybe Ryuji was so starved of anything positive in his life that he allowed himself to dwell on it a bit and feel a weird, narcissistic sense of pride about the words.

“Y-Yeah, I guess. How about next time, we just do some runnin' together? That sounds less dangerous, right?”

Akira stared, tilting his head slightly in obvious confusion, but Ryuji couldn't pinpoint a single weird thing about his words.

“What?”

“Next time?”

Oh _right_. Akira was a weirdo who was surrounded by slightly intimidating self-proclaimed parents, a weird artist with a very annoying choice of vocabulary, and a crazy computer freak girl who spent ninety-nine percent of her time somewhere in a locked-off basement staring at way too many screens at once. What exactly had Ryuji expected here, really?

“Yeah, well. You think you take me outta this damn place once and that's enough for a lifetime? It ain't that simple.”

“No, I…”

And like a brick to the face, Ryuji noticed himself weaken at the sight of Akira looking so _goddamn_ vulnerable again, as if he could never hurt a single soul for the love of it. It made him wonder if this was a facade or if Akira honestly had this innocent, self-conscious, nervous side to him and just hid it well whenever he needed to.

“I simply didn't expect you to be interested in me any longer after this rather negative encounter. That's…new, I suppose.”

_New in what way_ , Ryuji's mind screamed, but he didn't allow himself to ask it, instead daring to take a look around the room. Why was he even here? Wasn't it something they could've discussed outside, or in his own room less far down in the hallway?

“Ah, right. Here.”

Akira let go of him and went over to the cabinet, decisively pulling one of the drawers out and getting something out of it. To Ryuji's entire dismay, it was the mask he had silently hoped he'd never have to look at again – it wasn't even ugly, really, he liked skull-designs, but the whole idea of masks was so…out of place.

“What of it?” he tried to ask casually, taking only a few steps over, keeping a safe distance still.

“You wanted me to keep it, but I've decided against that idea. Put it on.”

Every bit of self-respect in Ryuji wanted to disobey, but the look on Akira's face very much indicated that he wouldn't take  _no_ for an answer, so instead he complied with it, as stupid as it felt. For some naive reason, he didn't expect Akira to take it as an open invitation to reach for his face again, run his fingertips through the bleached streaks slightly, their faces again so close that it almost physically hurt. There was a tension between them that Ryuji couldn't identify, but he wanted it gone. Before he could mention a word about it, he felt soft lips against his own, a simple, short brush before Akira pulled away, a questioning look on his face, as if he  _hadn't_ been the one to instigate that action in the first place.

“You should go now.”

The words were definite, and Ryuji was fast to just follow them, for it was exactly his own thought. Whatever was happening here, whatever the reason for them getting closer while things should push them away from each other, it made him  _anxious._ Akira was the last person he should feel positivity towards, he'd learned that many times by now, and yet, Ryuji couldn't stop himself from feeling all these weird things, from wanting to bond with this insane, ruthless, terrible,  _desperate, insecure_ guy.

The second his head hit the pillows, he allowed himself to scream into the fabric loudly, begging for some sort of miracle to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I promise this isn't the last time we see fluff boy mishiman~~


	7. Torn Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooof, this took forever, I know, I'm sorry D;  
> Nothing to say in my defense, either! Hope you enjoy.

As huge and preposterous as the building was, it held nothing against the garden that came with it. Screw the pool, Ryuji didn't care that much about swimming, but _oh man_ he hadn't been wrong about the place coming close to being surrounded by a forest. Apparently, it was fenced off, so Queen had reluctantly agreed on letting him be outside on his own when he hadn't stopped bothering her. Akira was god-knew-where, and for days now, and Ryuji found himself unable to dare and ask someone about his whereabouts – somehow, he doubted anyone would tell.

So here he was, happily enjoying the feeling of his favorite shoes on his feet, the earth dry and supportive, the smell of nature engulfing him, wind slightly caressing his cheeks just like back then. If he closed his eyes – which he didn't, because there _were_ a damn lot of trees here – it'd almost feel like _back then_ , back when he'd still imagined this to be his possible future – back when things had been a whole goddamn lot easier.

He did manage to find the fence, with hectares and hectares of acres on the other side – which did make quite the fine sense, considering they were at least suburban here – and even though it was indeed quite high, Ryuji couldn't help but wonder if it would truly stop him if he honestly wanted to get out of here _badly_. But then again, what would he do afterwards? Wander endless miles of land not even truly knowing where he was? Yeah, no, so he decided to head back as long as the sun was still out.

These days, he hadn't been doing much lately. His most mention-worthy experiences in the last week had probably been having dinner with Futaba twice and finding a really good action book between the hundreds of thrillers, crimes and fantasy novels. He'd managed to evade anyone _but_ Futaba for most of the time, but he couldn't help wondering if that made things better or actually worse. Something told him bad things would happen soon, and considering what he'd just been through, that meant quite a lot.

His first warning, at least that's what he would call it, came later that day when he had just decided to go down and chat with Futaba a bit more; he didn't get that far, because voices in the main hall had him stop at the stairs, and though he didn't want to get called out for eavesdropping, he also didn't plan on butting in and getting caught up in the trouble.

There was Queen, there was the creepy _Hanged Man_ guy, and there was also Akira with his back to the stairs, all three of them in an apparently quite heated argument about something, although it was hard to make sense out of their words.

“How far do you believe your secrets will bring you? You're getting us all killed, kid.”

“Don't make it sound like I should care.”

He made a move to turn around and leave but was halted by the sleeve – a move that Ryuji decided he should refrain from trying, because before he could even understand what was going on, he saw Akira fight back – and bring the other guy down to the floor in one smooth movement.

“Don't. Touch me.”

Finally, Queen stepped forward, harrumphing and gesturing at something, probably Akira's face, although Ryuji couldn't quite tell from his position.

“Joker, please, there's no use in fighting each other. You should get your wounds treated, there's more work waiting tomorrow.”

He huffed, nodded and turned around again. There was probably little use in trying to run and pretending he'd heard nothing, so Ryuji decided to go the other way and play it down as casually as possible, leaning over the railing a bit and raising a hand in a welcoming motion when Akira noticed him and looked up. It wasn't a great sight, in all honesty, there was a huge bruise on Akira's forehead and his lip was cut open slightly, although not bleeding anymore. Seemed like he'd taken quite a beating, so to say.

“A shitty day, huh?” Ryuji tried dodging any accusations of him listening in before they could even come up, but Akira only made an agreeing sound and didn't come to a halt until he'd already passed him by.

“I've had better ones,” he said then, turning around a little as if considering if he should care or simply leave. He looked exhausted, too, even though it was hard to tell if the dark rings under his eyes came from lack of sleep or from whatever he had just been through.

“Sure ain't helpin' how these guys treat ya, huh?”

“They act like some sort of foster parents as if I needed any.”

He sounded like a brat, a little kid trying to stand up against  their given rules, and while Ryuji found it childish, he had to admit that he, too, doubted Akira needed these people to tell him how to live. What he'd seen of them so far, Ryuji couldn't stand them  and their weird wannabe-ideals – on one hand, they pretended they knew better, could decide what was right and wrong to do; on the other, it was obvious that they didn't have a care about if Akira truly wanted any of that. Why were they even working together in the first place?

“Well, if y'ask me, y'could need a good bath and approximately fifteen hours of sleep.”

“It's fine.”

As if that weren't a big fat lie.

“There's something I'd like to give you. Follow me.”

Ryuji had a hunch that whatever it was going to be, he wouldn't like it a single bit, but he didn't object for he doubted it would be a great idea to sour Akira's mood even further.  For now, they passed the hallway again, and Ryuji wasn't surprised that they went past his room and to Akira's – great, because he'd made so many good memories here so far, right?

He kept a safe distance, leaned against the bed on the wall far away from Akira who was, yet again, rummaging in his cabinet, eventually pulling out a suitcase and bringing it over, placing it on the bed and sitting down right there. All Ryuji could think was  _don't be weapons, please don't let there be guns in that, please god in heaven I don't believe in-_

Well, it sure wasn't guns, but that didn't stop Ryuji from taking a generous step away when Akira opened the case, revealing a considerable collection of  _very_ sharp-looking knives. And considering every other time there had been knives around them, someone had gotten hurt, it was only fair to be extra-cautious, right?

“Great,” he said, trying to hide the fact that he was getting nervous. “This thing you wanna give me is not going to be, I don't know, another slice along my throat, right?”

As much as he really gave it his all to pretend he was totally chill, Ryuji immediately felt like running, and the look on Akira when he faced him, the raised eyebrow, the small grin, none of that helped at all.

“Well, if you insist, I will not object, of course, but that's not what I had in mind.”

He acted fast – faster than Ryuji could have fought back, and he already felt himself pulled over by the hand before he could make a single sound. His shin hit the bed frame and he let himself drop onto the soft mattress, glaring at Akira who himself looked perfectly amused. Again, Ryuji couldn't help but realize that he was some sort of entertainment to the guy, a distraction maybe, from all the other things going on in this place. He sat up in one quick motion, angry stare still glued to his face.

“Anyway, while I stand by the fact that you're safe here, it's best not to take any unnecessary chances. You're not scared of knives, are you?”

Did he find this  _funny?!_

“I ain't. Also ain't used to, y'know, killing people, so-”

“Oh, I know. That's why I didn't offer you a gun.”

_Screw. This. Guy._

“You're so goddamn far gone, it ain't even funny. Fine then. Are you gonna make a big fuss out of this again like with the mask or the great codename?”

Surprisingly, Akira's eyes lit up, even though it had been a joke. Something about all this seemed to intrigue him, and Ryuji couldn't help but think that it was almost a bit adorable – almost only though, considering they were talking about assigning him a weapon for direct combat.

“I wasn't going to, but if you ask me like that – yes. This should fit you perfectly.”

He picked the least decorated knife out of the bunch, and Ryuji did his utter best to not roll his eyes at the fact that there was a goddamn silver skull on it, and instead watched Akira fold the blade into the handle and unfold it again. Then, without a warning, he pulled it across his palm, immediately causing a bloody incision.

“What are you- what the hell, Akira?”

But he didn't look half as fazed as a person should about cutting their own hand like that. Instead, he explained as if doing it had been entirely rational.

“I need to make sure that whatever tool I hand you is capable of keeping you safe, of course. It's but a measure to ensure-”

“Akira. Dude.”

Ryuji couldn't help but reach out, take the knife and put it down somewhere on the bed, then grab Akira's hand to inspect the wound.  It wasn't a deep flesh wound, sure, but the bla de was undoubtedly extremely sharp, and t he cut kept bleeding. Instinctively, Ryuji pressed the fabric of his sweater's sleeve against it so it wouldn't taint the whole bed, all while glaring at Akira's vacuous expression.

“Stop makin' it sound like you're some sort'a test experiment, or a punchin' bag. You ain't gotta hurt yourself for my safety, that's fuckin' stupid, so just…stop, man.”

They fell silent, both of them looking at the violet fabric turning a bright, soaked red. It was weird to be this close, it was weird to tend a wound that had had absolutely no reason to even have been inflicted, it was weird to lecture someone as crazy and insane as Akira about taking care of himself – and even so, Ryuji did it without a single doubt, without questioning his decision to interfere in this, without giving Akira much room to complain.

“Why are you doing this?”

_Stupid question._

“Ugh, figure it out. How d'you feel, anyway? Y'still look like shit, sorry.”

He gestured at Akira's face, but also the rest of him, then nodded in the direction of the door shortly, remembering the encounter with those annoying wannabe parents earlier. Apparently, Akira remembered, too, because he groaned and narrowed his eyes.

“It's fine. The cut will heal in no time, and the bruise on my forehead isn't half as bad as it looks.”

Ryuji waited, but that seemed to be the end of it. He sighed and shook his head.

“That's not what I asked, though? These guys down there might be tellin' ya to be fit soon for whatever they got planned, but I don't. I was askin' how you _feel_.”

For whatever reason, that still didn't seem to be quite direct enough. Had no one ever asked Akira how he was doing other than when he was heavily wounded? On second though t , Ryuji didn't actually want to know, because he knew the answer had tons of potential to make him  _ really _ mad. He knew that he shouldn't feel bad for someone like Akira, but  _ how _ , when he was so obviously confused about something as simple as being  questioned about his mental condition?!

“I…don't know,” he finally answered when pulling his hand away, inspecting the wound. The bleeding had stopped for now, at least as long as he didn't move it too much, probably, but Ryuji was sure it still hurt a lot. Even so, Akira didn't look anything but bored, got up, searched for something in his cabinet and returned with a bandage and a patch, looking at it questioningly before handing it both over.

“Maybe I cut a bit deep,” he admitted, although he didn't sound too apologetic about it, and held out his hand. Why he was suddenly being so cooperative was beyond Ryuji, but he wasn't going to ruin it by pointing that out.

“You're a self-destructive fuck, and I wish I could say ya deserved it, but I ain't that low, apparently. Just take some better care of yo'self, if everyone else is a dick and doesn't.”

“But you do.”

He stopped in his movement for only a moment, tried not to pout and absolutely refused to meet Akira's gaze, because  _ yes, thank you,  _ he'd already noticed that, too, and couldn't quite say that he understood why he was here, helping this deranged lunatic with a wound he'd  willingly inflicted himself.

“Ye, thanks for remindin' me. Guess I just know what it's like when no one-”

Swallowing hard, he stopped. This was nothing he should spill, especially not right here and right now. Instead, he focused on the bandage, made sure it sat well and tightly enough, but so that it didn't hurt or stop the blood flow entirely either.

“Should work for now. Still think ya should take that bath and sleep a ton, dude.”

He'd hardly finished the sentence before already trying to get away, pushing himself away with one hand on the bed – there was no way he could stay here any longer; whatever was going on, he didn't like it, he didn't want to be in this murderer business, for god's sake-!

His movement came to a halt when he felt a tight, demanding grip on his wrist, and as much as he hated to admit it, he knew that he'd already lost. Why was he so weak, why did he always have to help even the weirdest people if it looked like they needed support?

“I've found an answer.”

“To what?”

He sat back down, eyes focused on the slim fingers still embracing his wrist, wondered how they'd gotten here again, what had happened to put Akira in such a horrific physical and mental state.

“I feel…lonely.”

_Just like Futaba said._

There was no good answer to that, nothing Ryuji could  _say_ to change anything about  it, but being the way he was, he couldn't help  _trying_ , struggled his hand free and put both on Akira's shoulders, pressing nails through fabric into skin just enough that it would most likely pinch.

“Then let's change that.”

He could feel his lips curl into a motivating smile, maybe a grin even, and as much as he regretted getting affiliated, it made him proud. Helping was something he could do; he was locked in a place he didn't know, cut off from the few people he missed and loved, but as long as Akira decided to come back, to not abandon him, Ryuji knew that he would be able to do the same.

They ended up having some super-unfancy dinner, Akira finally took his well-needed bath after the third time Ryuji told him to -  _“I don't want to see anyone” - “Well, you better learn to run fast then, dude.” -_ and eventually, when he was lying flat on his back in the very same bed, bloody sweater thrown somewhere on the floor, fold ing and unfold ing the knife in his hand absentmindedly and star ing  at the ceiling, Ryuji couldn't help but wonder.

As arrogant, poised and strong as Akira liked to present himself, he seemingly only did so to hide something else, buried beneath his coldblooded, uninterested mask, a truth he was pretending didn't exist, but at the same time had trouble denying. Ryuji had yet to understand the reasons for this odd group to exist, to kill or steal or meet at fancy parties and exchange dangerous envelopes, but as long as he kept learning new things, as long as he could convince himself there was some humanity hidden in all of them, maybe that could be enough for now.

“Your _thinking_ -wrinkles are really cute, you know.”

“You-wha- fuck you, man!”

His cursing sure didn't hide the fact that he'd almost jumped up from the shock, having been so lost in trance that he hadn't noticed Akira entering. The knife dropped somewhere on the bed, luckily folded right now, and Ryuji was already only an inch left from throwing a pillow in the direction of the door when he noticed that Akira had already moved over to the bed.

“You're scarily fast.”

“Comes with the job.”

They both fell silent, each on their back staring at the ceiling, and apparently it was Akira's turn to expect the knife, although Ryuji kept his eyes on the very moment at all times. Who knew when he'd weirdly freak out and cut himself again like earlier? He was just too unpredictable, and it  _was_ scary.

“You're unnaturally collected.”

“Hm?”

Had he missed something? Because as far as Ryuji himself was concerned, he was  _freaking out_ and entirely alarmed, mainly because of Akira, but also due to the fact that the other guys had looked so mad earlier and there was still an almost one-hundred percent chance that he would be at least partly blamed for something if he dared to cross their paths anytime soon.

“You're lying next to _me_ , defenseless. I could stab you without even the slightest noise in…”

He made it seem like he was honestly thinking about it.

“…less than three seconds. And yet, you're just…here.”

“Eh, I ain't sayin' I'm entirely comfortable, and I def' know you're hella dangerous, but…dunno, dude, somehow I doubt you're gonna do that. Call me an idiot if ya want, wouldn't be the first to.”

But Akira didn't call him anything, only hummed shortly to indicate he'd acknowledged the words, then fell silent. It wasn't unnecessarily uncomfortable – a fact which honestly surprised Ryuji, because Akira wasn't entirely wrong – he _should_ be a little more concerned about lying next to a murderer, especially considering how he felt himself grow tired. As his mom would say now, he was too nice for his own good sometimes, and he wouldn't deny that the words _I feel lonely_ kept repeating themselves in his mind ever since Akira had said them.

“That guy whose life I spared the other day.”

_Oh no._ Not this again. He'd hoped they could entirely forget about their encounter with Yuuki for all eternity, keeping him out of this bullshit.

“Are you two close?”

“Counterquestion: If I tell ya, will you run to Navi and tell'er to look it up so you can kill him?”

There was a long, very obvious silence, and just when Ryuji opened his mouth again to make it clear that he wasn't going to rat his friend out for a thing in the world, he did get an answer.

“I didn't do it last time, and I doubt I would now. See, this is _confusing_.”

In one smooth movement, Akira sat up and crossed his legs, stared down at the knife in his own hands, a deep frown on his forehead.  Something about him changed drastically at that, he immediately looked a lot less collected, weirdly angry at someone or something.

“I have never, _never_ even given myself a chance to reevaluate if I should kill or not. It's always a definite decision – as soon as my mind is made up, I go for it. But why, when you tried to stop me, couldn't I do it? Nothing makes sense!”

His movement came to a halt, blade between two calm fingers, eyes staring at some indefinite point on the wall. There were probably a lot of smart or cautious things to say, but all Ryuji managed to blurt out was:

“That's what's bothering you? Dude, you're _nuts_.”

In all honesty, he deserved the dirty look he got, but he wasn't sure if getting pinned down was a necessary addition to that. Out of the many things Ryuji definitely did not want to get used to in this place, finding himself topped by Akira holding a knife and looking displeased definitely ranked fairly high.

“Obviously. That doesn't answer my question, though.”

“What kinda answer d'ya want? I say it's a fair deal to reconsider killing if given the chance, but I ain't in your crazy head, so what do I know!”

The last words came out a little high-pitched, his eyes widening at the cold blade connecting to the skin on his cheek.  _Not again_ , was all he could think.  Why did each and every confrontation between them always end with him pushed into a corner without a way out, and Akira looking as if he might suddenly go through with his stabbing-threat quite out of nowhere.

“Right…what do you know.”

The calmness in his voice made Ryuji calm down as well, at least a bit. It didn't make the position or the general conflict any better, but at least he could force himself to breathe evenly enough not to hyperventilate,  not when the metal tickled his cheek, not when he felt the skin rip open just barely. It was a bit sad how even if he'd want to scream, no one would listen. There was no one in this place who would save him, even if he cried and pleaded and begged for mercy; no one here to stop Akira's twisted mind going places.

Well, except-

“Would you stop that?”

The movement immediately came to a halt, a fact that Ryuji wouldn't deny made him just a bit proud. There was at least  _some_ getting through to Akira – all he had to do was properly try, it seemed.

“What is it with you and that knifing-obsession?”

“Everything in me screams to cut you open, every single inch I can find.”

He'd have to lie if he said he didn't swallow hard and lose a nerve.

“Just so I can be the one to patch you up.”

There was a chuckle – unamused, restless, and Ryuji didn't realize it had come from himself until he harrumphed dryly, felt sweat drops piling up on his forehead and buried both of his hands into the fabric of Akira's shirt to at least try and keep him away a fair distance.

“Y-yeah. Let's not do that, 'kay?”

This wasn't good, it wasn't even bad, it was simply  _disastrous_ , but also quite amazing. For some weird reason, they constantly managed to end up in situations like this, and Ryuji couldn't help but find it at least a small tad amusing, no matter how scared he was.

“Right…”

Akira's voice was but a mumble at this point, and even when he raised the knife and put it to the side, he didn't make a single move to get up.

“You're manipulating me.”

_Oh, if only I_ could.

“Better don't expect me to apologize, 'cause I won't.”

And he didn't, not when Akira finally dropped on his back on the bed, not when he reached up for the ceiling yet again rambling about how all of this confused him, and not when Ryuji himself nodded in agreement, sighed and forced himself to believe that the words he heard weren't real, that Akira hadn't said them, that they were in his head only and would never mean a thing.

“I don't want you to leave me.”


	8. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing in my defense regarding the lack of updates lately, except for the fact that I'm sorry, I guess. ;_;

When Ryuji awoke later that night, heavily disoriented and highly alarmed, something was off. Something other than the fact that this bed wasn't his and that he remembered having fallen asleep here after vehemently trying to tell himself that he could just ignore Akira's confusing words, his confusing confessions and feelings and the fact that he was trying to get closer while what they should actually do was grow apart.

But no, that wasn't what _primarily_ bothered Ryuji – it did, no questions asked, but the thing occupying him the most was the unsteady motion on the mattress somewhere next to himself, different from the consistent movement of someone breathing. He made the fatal mistake of turning to the side and regretted it immediately, because as soon as he laid eyes on the body next to his own, curled into a fetal position as far away from him as possible, he felt his heart sink and cursed himself, yet again, for being absolutely unable to not care.

He considered saying something, but instead went with reaching out carefully. There was no doubt in his mind that if he proposed himself as a sort of threat, he could be dead before either of them even knew what was going on, so he touched Akira's back just lightly, giving him enough time and space to get away from the motion quickly if he wanted to.

Judging by the flinch coming from his body, he was awake just half a second after Ryuji's fingertips even reached him, which was both fascinating and depressing at once. How super-aware did someone have to be in order to wake up due to such a small touch?

“Stop-”

The word was cut off, ending in a deep sigh, but he still decided it was probably best to pull his hand away before he got in trouble.

“Sorry. Looked like you had a nightmare.”

“Oh, I wish.”

In one fast, short motion, Akira sat up, his figure highlighted by the moonlight coming in through the window, legs crossed and eyes focused on his own hands that lay in his lap. Ryuji had to squint, but they were definitely shaking a bit, a detail which he chose to keep to himself in order to live. He sat up, too, feeling quite dizzy because not only was he not used to sleeping in full panoply, but it was also rather unusually hot tonight.

“You wish?”

Instead of answering, Akira shook his head, buried it in his hands and threw his legs over the edge of the bed, got up and walked around the room, looking more than unsettled, mumbling to himself.

“Why did I…how _could_ I…”

Then, all out of sudden, he came to a halt, turned around to Ryuji and gave him the most displeased look possible.

“What if he rats us out? Have you ever considered that in the past week?”

Oh for _fucks_ sake, was he still not done with _tha_ _t_? Admittedly, while he apparently had a hard time letting it go, Ryuji had forced himself not to think about it _at all_ the last days. As little as he wanted to believe in the possibility, he wasn't quite sure what could happen if Yuuki decided to go tell anyone about the fact that Ryuji, _haha_ , was not in jail anymore and instead hung around a coldblooded maniac.

Yeah, that sure would be quite the story.

“I'm gonna be honest – I tried to evade the topic. But how can ya blame me? Not much I could do to change his mind if he did that.”

“I could have-”

“Yeah, I get it! You could probably kill every single person who knows me in a few minutes – good for you, but I don't wanna fuckin' hear it.”

They fell silent, and although it wasn't exactly comfortable, it was still better than the disgusting suggestions apparently going on in Akira's mind, who had returned to pacing around, nails buried into his hair. He kind of reminded Ryuji of an aggressive cat – the fact that he'd be a black cat, bringing bad fortune, fit a little too well into that, too.

“If you're gonna walk around like a freak for the next hour, I'ma take that as my cue to leave.”

And he wanted to, was already on his way out, trying to think about anything but what could happen to the people close to him, and how little power he had over any of it. But he was weak, so disgustingly and undeniably weak, and one small little word was enough to make him stop in his tracks.

“Don't.”

He wanted to scream, fly around and shout his lungs out until his voice cracked, but instead he just sighed, hung his head and bit his lip, forcing himself to shut up and endure it. Whatever was going on, if he'd ever had any control over it, it was long but gone, and he was too tired to honestly try.

“Make up your mind already.”

“I did. Last I recall, I admitted to the quite unpleasant truth that I don't want you to leave.”

_Yeah, as if sayin' it the first time hadn't been difficult enough._

There was no point in trying to pretend he hadn't heard those words anymore, and Ryuji truly hated that very same fact. Why was everything getting more complicated with each minute, and why was he so unable to decide what he wanted himself? He cast a look at the skull-decorated knife on the nightstand and couldn't help but immediately look over to Akira, too, to the bandaged wound he had inflicted on himself. His obsession still didn't make any sense to Ryuji, but he remembered the answer he'd gotten before upon asking and he wasn't ready for the same kind of shiver yet again.

“Well, dude, I'm still here, ain't I? Can't help ya if you act like a moody kid, though.”

“I don't need help.”

And Ryuji was an inch short of snorting, raising an eyebrow and chuckling unamusedly at how incredibly wrong that statement alone was, but Akira was faster than he was, already letting out a sharp hiss and looking at his own spread fingers held up to his face.

“I'm far beyond that already.”

That was when it hit Ryuji. The reason all of this frustrated him so much wasn't the fact that their relationship was difficult, or that approaching Akira proved to be continuously and increasingly exhausting – it was the possibility of every single effort going to waste, of the future holding nothing but despair and darkness for both of them. If he knew that anything good would come out of bonding with a maniac, he'd do it – anything to help at least one person, anything to prevent even just one murder. But as it was, with the bored look in Akira's eyes, the way he focused on his still fingers, took one perfectly calm breath after another, seemingly too far gone for anyone or anything to still be able to reach out to him; Ryuji couldn't help but wonder if there was a point in trying, or if he should do his utter best and everything in order to possibly save himself from this hopeless situation.

“I ain't sayin' ya can undo all the shit you've done – whatever that is – but there ain't ever a point where it's too late to stop, man. It's your choice.”

“My choice?”

The words seemed to honestly confuse Akira, as if he'd never considered it like that.

“Yeah, dude. If you kill, that's a choice. If you don't, it's one, too. That simple, man.”

He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief, and turned away, stepping out on the balcony, letting in a refreshingly cool breeze. Now would undoubtedly be the best time to run, yet instead Ryuji found himself cast a last look at the door before deciding to follow. It'd sure be the weirdest heart-to-heart he'd ever had, but he nonetheless felt like it would be one, and maybe that would help at least one of them.

“So. You think there's nothing I must do?”

Akira was sitting on the railing like a little kid, legs bouncing back and forth as if he were on too much sugar or some drug, and he didn't even bother tearing his eyes from the moon, didn't even so much as flinch when Ryuji leaned over the railing right next to him, sighing deeply and nodding slowly.

“Ain't sayin' it can't get ya in trouble. Just…whatever choice you make, it's yours. It sucks, but ya can't shift that blame.”

“I see.”

They both fell silent, and Ryuji took the moment to stare down at the front-garden in awe. It was dark again, sure, but there were lamps and if he squinted, he could've sworn there were guards here and there – not too surprising, thinking about it, but still extremely weird and new to him. On one hand, he felt like that made all of them very suspicious, but then again, he had no idea if this whole complex of buildings was supposed to belong to some rich asshole, possibly with tons of control. This whole business reminded him too much of a bad action movie.

“I'm confused,” he admitted then, although not exactly sure how to properly word it. Until now, he hadn't found out a thing about why all of these people were truly here, and with each passing day, it made less sense. The weird brutal guy, he supposed he could understand – he seemed like the kind to take part in dirty business. But Futaba, or even Queen or Fox; what were their reasons to pact with a killer?

“I can't promise to explain everything that worries you, but I can try.”

That was already a whole lot more than Ryuji had expected, considering Akira’s questionable approachableness.

“ I don’t get this whole...living arrangement. I mean, why’re all these guys here, what even is your  _ goal _ ?”

“It’s different for everyone. Be it money, a place to be home at, revenge. In all honesty, I don’t truly care, as long as they don’t betray me.”

Whatever _betrayal_ meant to him, really. Why and how would someone like Fox, who easily seemed to fall into the category _money_ , most likely entirely unrelated to any of the shady business, sell Akira or anyone else here out — to whom, even?

“Yeah, cool, fine. What about _you_ then?”

Because even if he tried, none of what Ryuji had learned about until now was craftable into one coherent piece. He’d seen Akira bored over a grotesque-looking corpse, he’d seen him mercilessly kill someone without a second thought, and he’d also seen him leap off a fancy building in a fancy suit during a definitely _way too_ fancy event, with an envelope in his hands that hadn’t been mentioned ever after the whole incident. 

“ I wonder.”

Groaning, rolling his eyes passionately, Ryuji turned his head away. Had he truly expected to get a proper answer? But he felt cautious fingers reach for his arm and decided to let it happen, decided to give all of this at least one chance.

“This isn't me trying to hide something. I must admit, I truly can't define my reasons. Maybe I used to have some. It's become natural, though.”

“Oh,  _ really _ ? You kill for good measure, hm?”

Angrily, Ryuji pushed himself off the railing, narrowed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief before repeating the thought, and eventually leading back to the topic he himself had earlier complained about being reminded of.

“You were this close to killin' one of my closest friends for _good measure,_ because it felt _natural._ Is this bullshit s ome game to you, dude? And here I was, believin' there was some sorta humanity in you. Maybe you're right – you _are_ far beyond help.”

It wasn't exactly what he'd meant to say, and if he were to keep his eyes on Akira, on the way he stopped in his motion, flinched and finally tore his eyes from the moon to look at him, Ryuji might  have felt regret – but he didn't, because he was already heading back inside, deciding that he'd heard enough for a lifetime.  Sure, he had no way to leave this place right now – realistically spoken, he didn't even know what was waiting for him outside of this safe haven, no matter how much it felt like a second prison.  But was he really going to let all that cloud his better judgment and play a charade?

“Wait.”

“For what? For you to disappear for another week because you're salty, then forcin' yourself on me expectin' that things are suddenly great? You could kill me here on the spot and I wouldn't even be surprised, dude. Pull yourself the fuck together.”

“I'm trying!”

And because it was the first time Ryuji had ever heard Akira's voice raise above a calm level, he couldn't help jumping and backing away a few steps, startled by the anger and annoyance in those two little words.

Akira had stepped back inside, too, closed the balcony door in one smooth motion without even looking at it, eyes never torn away from Ryuji's, nails then burying in his own wrist, and the wound on his hand visibly having ripped open. He looked only slightly bothered; like he was in pain but didn't really care, and that fact alone made Ryuji mad yet _again_ , so he closed the distance between them again and grabbed Akira's wrist just a second before he could drill his thin fingers through the fabric and into the sensitive, already injured skin.

“Stop hurtin' yourself. It makes me so goddamn mad.”

“It doesn't matter. Let go.”

Deciding it was for the best not to anger him further, Ryuji did just that, however kept his eyes focused on the wound and the way Akira unwrapped it from the bandage without even biting his lips from the pain. He'd probably had wounds far worse than that one; another fact that made Ryuji _really mad_ , but he kept his mouth shut and watched Akira inspect the bloody incision, the way it tore open a bit further when he arched his hand back a little too far.

He dropped onto the bed, seemingly not caring about the fact that he was going to taint the sheets, or that he might possibly get himself a nasty infection if he didn't tend the wound properly. But he looked tired, exhausted, hurt even, his good hand raised up towards the ceiling, the bleeding one grabbing the blanket he was halfway lying on.

“If this is tryin' to you, I'd prefer ya stopped, dude.”

“How do I stop?”

They were both aware that this wasn't about the wound or their fighting or even just this _trying_ he had been talking about; suddenly, they were back to the initial topic, him killing for the sake of it, trying to shift that blame by making it seem like he hadn't ever had a choice or a say in any of that.

“Really? I dunno, man. I don't even know how ya willingly started it in the first place.”

“Me neither.”

He sat back up, ran a hand through his hair only to let it rest on his neck, squeezing so lightly that if Ryuji hadn't paid extra attention to it, he probably wouldn't have noticed – but he was alarmed, worried for _both_ their lives, so he did what felt most natural, closed the gap between himself and the bed and sat down as casually as possible, keeping a safe distance without them being unnaturally far from each other.

“What about you?”

He didn't understand the question, so he raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side, eyes still judgmentally focused on Akira's hand on his neck. 

“The day I met you in prison, I knew you didn't belong there. You were unnaturally nice, cared for others. I suppose I could ask Navi to find out what got you there, but…”

And maybe Ryuji was going crazy, but when he squinted, he could have sworn he saw a faint, insecure blush on Akira's cheeks – for just a moment, though, before he shook his head, mien returning to _monotonous_ in an instance, and continued:

“I'd much prefer hearing it from you.”

Suddenly, it was all there. The memory of the last time Ryuji had been visited by his mom, the smile on her face, the tears on her cheeks, the guilt weighing him down and making him want to throw a fit and flee from that cursed place because somewhere deep down, he'd always known that Akira's words were more than true. He'd never truly belonged in that place full of thugs and selfish assholes sitting in for some petty crime. All he'd wanted had been to help, and now here he was, stuck with yet another group of criminals, even more isolated than before, torn from his friends and the only family he'd had left.

“I…fuck, screw it. I needed the money for my mom, fine?”

“What for?”

He felt like an idiot for actually explaining it, but at the same time, it was so freeing to get it out at least once, because _of course_ he'd never spilled any of that towards the other inmates or his friends.

“Surgery. Not the cheapest kind, either.”

“You risked going to prison for someone else's surgery? I suppose that's admirable, but I must admit I…don't really understand.”

“Dude, she's my _mom_.”

Immediately, he felt stupid, wanted to take those words back because _god damn it,_ what part of him had been expecting Akira to understand such a bond, considering that none of the people around him seemed to be anywhere close to his family?

“I, uh-”

“Save it.”

Seemingly bored, Akira used his sleeve to wipe his palm, then dug between the torn skin right into the flesh with his nails. Instinctively, Ryuji reached out and grabbed his hand, because not only was it disgusting, but he absolutely hated the thought of people destroying themselves.

“I'm sorry,” he said anyway, even though Akira had demanded him not to. “Sometimes, I ain't good with thinkin' before I speak.”

“I realized that.”

_ Seems like you ain't better at that, dude. _

“Don't look at me like that. It's something I appreciate. It means you don't lie to me for a chance to get on my good side.”

No, most likely not. There was also nothing that currently gave Ryuji much reason to go on, which didn't mean he felt suicidal, but he also wasn't _really_ scared of his life ending one of these days; the thought was creepy, sure, but since he was locked away here, he wouldn't lose much, and there wasn't anyone out there who would lose _him_ any more than they already had up to this point.

“To be honest with you, when I broke you out, my mind was devoid of thoughts like _what if someone tries to find him?_ I never really considered how much of a threat that could propose.”

_ Threat. _

The word repeated itself in Ryuji's mind over and over  _and over_ . The image of his mom, smiling, loving, caring, tainted by the cruel reality of Akira's paranoia. Ryuji wondered if he should've kept his mouth shut, but he also knew that eventually, Akira would have found out otherwise. Still, that didn't stop him from jumping up and bringing distance between them.

“D-dude, this ain't fuckin' funny. Don't throw this out as if my family were the next thing on ya goddamn target list!”

His hands were clenching to fists, almost naturally, even though he was entirely sure that he'd lose  _any_ potential fist-fight between the two of them. What he lacked in muscle, Akira had more than once proven he was able to make up with both skill and ruthlessness. He'd be able to kill before his enemy even had the chance to consider  _fighting._

“I'm _worried!_ ”

“Well, worry about any goddamn thing in the world except my _mom_! I knew trusting you with anythin' was a bad idea!”

“I won't _use_ it against you!”

Finally , Akira had pushed himself off the bed, too, closed the distance between them and grabbed Ryuji by the collar – an act that didn't really undermine his words much, but that wasn't the point. Contrary to everything he depicted – to the perfect, mindless, untouchable killer ready to throw any doubts overboard if needed; he was shaking, sweating, teeth clenched, breath uneven. It seemed to scare  him , too, because he blinked nervously, let go but remained in the same spot.

“How am I supposed to believe a damn thing ya say when all you did so far when a thing like this happened was _hide_ from me for a damn week? Your word ain't enough here.”

“Oh, what else do you want? A blood oath? Some sort of stupid sacrifice? I don't have anything to give but my word, Ryuji!”

He knew that, but it made nothing easier. The only thing on his mind was how he could get to Navi and  _beg_ her to keep anything she could find on and about his mom from Akira for as long as possible, just until Ryuji could find a way to contact her himself and tell her to get as far away from here as humanly possible.

If his life hadn't felt like a B-quality action movie up to this point, it sure did now.

“God, why did you have to pull me into this? I'm stuck in a place I ain't got a clue about, with people wantin' me dead and no way to flee. I _want_ to help ya if I can, but you ain't makin' it easy, Akira.”

A hand reached out for him again, the injured one, grabbed into the fabric of his shirt and pulled him in, so much closer than he wanted to be; weirdly insecure, deep gray eyes pierced through his soul, silently begging him for an answer. Then, they widened, Akira visibly swallowed and chuckled, although he didn't sound amused, and said:

“It's Ren.”

Ryuji didn't understand what that meant, so he shook his head and put his hand on the one on his shirt, squeezing it lightly, like an apology, like the vow he'd  somehow silently  given days ago, untangled it from his shirt and held it by the wrist, careful not to cause it anymore harm than had already happened. Just when he opened his mouth to ask, he got the explanation.

“My real name, Ryuji. If you want, you can destroy my whole life with that alone. It's the only thing I can give as pledge.”

Even though he'd brought that knowledge onto himself, Ryuji wished he could forget about it right after. He hadn't ever even considered a fake name, even though it  _absolutely_ made sense, and suddenly, he was even more scared of who this person right in front of him was. But even so, the assurance he'd wanted had never been something so incredibly private, so secret and sacred, so alarming and  _dangerous._

“You shouldn't trust me so much, man. You don't even know me.”

“That's true. And yet…”

There was no reason to say it out loud, because Ryuji knew they were both thinking the same cruel, horrible thought, stuck in a fate neither of them truly understood, and even though he'd been aware of the words before they came, his eyes widened in shock, his fingers around Akira's wrist twitched and his heart sank so far that he felt like he would faint when he heard them.

“You're the only one I _can_ trust.”


	9. Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was going to be some more awesome stuff in this chapter, but I didn't want to throw a 6k+ mess of an emotional rollercoaster into y'all's faces so for now, have some harmless bonding between two of my favorites and PLEASE forgive me for being so inconsistent with this fic lately, because I'm sorry. ;_;

Surprisingly, the days went on less uncomfortably than expected.

This time, Akira – Ren? Ryuji didn‘t even know anymore – had only disappeared for a mere three days in order to evade confrontation, but that was already a lot better than the previous time, especially considering that this encounter had arguably been worse.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that when they finally ran into each other again – in the hallway, as always – there was an awkward silence and a terribly long moment of them looking at each other before Ryuji, knowing that his temper would get the best of him, decided to pass by.

For some reason, he actually hadn’t expected to be stopped, even though he should have. Fingers brushed against his arm just faintly – enough for him to notice, but not enough to actually provoke anything. Still, he knew that it was but another instance of Akira somehow trying while not really trying, and Ryuji was _this close_ to beating the shit out of him for it yet again.

“You got somethin’ t’say t’me?”

“Theoretically, yes. I do doubt you’d want to hear it, though.”

_Then why the hell do you even bother me?_

He took a very, _very_ deep breath before turning around. Maybe he was too good of a person, but he knew that these tiny, small bits of reaching out were all he would get for now, so he had to grasp them, right?

“Just spill it.”

“I’d like to spend more time with you.”

_Oh. Blast._

Since he’d asked for it, he decided not to let Akira know that he was right – those words  _really_ were nothing Ryuji wanted to hear just like that.  But maybe it made sense, because as long as they were together, he could at least have an eye on what Akira was up to, and try to understand him a little better.

That, however, didn’t change a thing about Ryuji’s terrible composure and the fact that he’d had a  _long_ three days of piling up his anger.

“Oh, sure. Great. Who’re we gonna get _almost killed_ this time?”

“Skull-”

“No, _god,_ spare me. Fine. You best spent all this time on figurin’ out what’ya wanna do then.”

“I did.”

Why did that somehow only make it worse?

They started off casually, as if not a single bad thing had ever happened between the two of them, by having breakfast, and, because Ryuji insisted on it, going for a run. First of all, he needed to put his energy _somewhere_ – and he was too mad to care if it was by exhausting himself or by punching someone in the face. Second, and most importantly, he wanted to see the look of utter destruction on Akira’s face that he’d been robbed off when they’d been running through the park after their escape – the look of realizing his limits, of panting, sweating, eyes blown wide with the unfulfilled wish to pump oxygen into one’s lungs.

He didn’t say that out loud, though, obviously, instead claiming that if Akira wanted to spend time with him, it meant they also had to do things that had a definite spot in his life. And if anything in the world had such a spot, then it was running.

“Hold…hold on.”

They’d barely been on it for fifteen minutes, if not less, but Ryuji obliged, not too surprised about it. Akira had absolutely no breath control – or maybe too much of it, but that’s not necessarily good if you’re _running_ – and it was beyond Ryuji why someone would wear long sports clothes in late summer, since he would barely even do that in _winter_ himself.

“That all ya got? Nice to see ya at your limits, dude.”

“Charming like a rotten potato, aren’t we?”

_You deserve it_ , he couldn’t help but think, even though he stopped himself before he could say it out loud. After all, he wasn’t here to  _fight;_ honestly, he was beyond  _sick_ of fighting and bad vibes with the people around him, no matter who they were. 

“You can call me whatever ya want, man. It’s good to push ya’self beyond the limits sometimes.”

Still, they ended up taking a short break and eventuall y headi ng back, even though Ryuji insisted on  _running_ the way back as well.  It wasn’t the best exercise he’d ever had, it wasn’t the worst – he liked the feeling of company, of another pair of feet rustling leaves and grass on the earth, of panting that wasn’t his.

Really, if it weren’t for the fact that the person next to him was a merciless killer, he’d probably be able to label this one of the best days in the last months.  Then again, life couldn’t be that fair to him, could it?

They met up again in the living room after a painfully long shower, Akira  sitting on the backrest of the sofa like a bored princess, letting his legs dangle down from it and tilting his head to show his cockiest smile.

“Glad you made it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, where’re we goin’?”

He got up, fixed his slightly wrinkled dress shirt at the waistband and shrugged before passing Ryuji by.

“I wonder, vulgar boy.”

_Oh, eat shit, dude._

But he supposed he had it coming today, because he’d definitely enjoyed seeing Akira’s perfect facade fall earlier at least a _bit_ too much, and if a little salty bickering was what he’d have to accept in return, it was more than okay. He didn’t want to think of it like that, but somehow, it reminded him of an _actual_ friendship.

They left wordlessly, Queen waiting for them outside, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised – wherever they were going, she didn’t exactly seem to be _amazed;_ then again, was she ever? Because Ryuji couldn’t remember a single instance where he hadn’t seen the woman frown or be angry.

“N’offense but ya don’t look too happy there.”

“I wonder whose fault that is.”

Well, Ryuji doubted he was the one to blame – he didn’t want to be here, he definitely didn’t want to share any words with Queen; hell, if things were to go his way, he’d forget every single piece of information and knowledge he held about any of this and willingly go back to prison for the remainder of his sentence. So, no, he wasn’t going to bow down and accept her anger, because he knew it wasn’t fair of her to blame him for whatever was going on.

“It’s but a dressing matter, Queen. Relax.”

“I’m not worried about the dressing, but about the _mission_!”

He let them bicker and made his way ahead to where the fancy car was waiting for them, hoping that it was unlocked. Memories of the last time he and Akira had left this place together returned to his mind, and if those kinds of problems were a regularity, Ryuji couldn’t even blame Queen for being mad.

Eventually though, their travel was quiet – no bickering, no mean looks, no _You’re the source of everything bad in the world happening_ vibes coming from her. When they reached their destination, Ryuji believed that he started to understand why. Whatever this place was – a residence, a shop, he wouldn’t be able to say – it _screamed_ FASHION if he’d ever seen anything do.

“I thought you were kiddin’ about some sorta dressin’.”

“No. I figured you could need a…change.”

Akira looked down on him slowly, and Ryuji did the same – truth be told, the clothes he was wearing weren’t exactly his size; he felt a bit like a muscly balloon forced into a nylon suit, but he’d figured that he’d just have to deal with that for now. Getting shoes had almost gotten one of his best friends killed, so he wasn’t exactly quick to take risks.

Other than the fact that he wasn’t in the financial position to buy anything in the first place.

“Fine, ‘s long as there’s no more weirdos or people hatin’ me for breathin’.”

“You two will get along.”

He swallowed his snarky reply, because he believed nothing anymore until he saw it. If they were anything like Futaba – which, really, Ryuji doubted _immensely_ – then that would be _okay_ , but other than that, he couldn’t imagine any of Akira’s friends being normal enough to not clash with his own personality.

While they waited to be let in, Ryuji inspected the building a little more, trying to see something through the big milky windows by squinting. It had something of a shop _in_ a residence, so he supposed that maybe the person living here worked at the front and resided in the back, but it was hard to tell. Eventually, when he was already shifting from one leg to another in boredom, the door opened.

Honestly, he was a bit thrown off guard.

The woman was only a little shorter than he was, her piercing blue eyes surprisingly welcoming, her posture open and inviting, and a wide smile on her face. She bent over a little and raised an eyebrow in a mocking fashion before winking at Akira.

“Ah! So happy you could finally arrange a visit, Joker!”

“It’s good to see you, too.”

“And…this is?”

She straightened herself, let her previously raised hand rest on her hip and tilted her head to inspect Ryuji. Apparently, she was skeptical, but at least she didn’t seem as _hostile_ as Queen was, and even though she asked, it looked like she already had a general idea of who he was.

“This is Skull.”

Ryuji automatically cringed at the nickname, scowled and looked over to Akira in extreme displeasure. It wasn’t the worst he could’ve picked, still, but the entire concept of code names was still _so_ foreign.

“ _Right._ Well, Skull here seems _really_ happy about that name.”

The woman boxed his shoulder in a friendly fashion, which was equally charming and worrying.

“Don’t worry, it’s still better than mine. Isn’t that right, Joker?”

“You can blame Fox for designing you a cute kitty cat mask, Panther.”

He couldn’t stop the scoffing sound before it left his throat, but managed to hold back the laughter that tried to come along with it. _Panther_. Immediately, Ryuji couldn’t deny being at least three-hundred percent less uncomfortable with _Skull._

“You’re _already_ the best of this freak’s friends, and I don’t even know ya yet.”

She laughed; a happy, wholesome sound that warmed his heart a little. Maybe Akira had been right about this, because so far, Ryuji _actually_ believed that he could get along with this person – although he _would_ prefer knowing her real name.

With a quick nod of her head, she led them inside, and apparently, he hadn’t been _too_ wrong about the place. It seemed to be a very small kind of private shop, but there were clothes on hanging rails – dresses, skirts, suits – half a million pairs of shoes for men and women, and all the fancy accessories no one in their right mind could need, from plain cravats to childishly patterned bow-ties.

In short: This place was _everything_ that Ryuji knew he _wasn’t._

“Why did I expect anythin’ normal when you mentioned a _change_?” he asked Akira, or maybe himself, and got a soft chuckle as a reply.

“Don’t worry. We should stock up your supplies on regular clothes, too, just…not today.”

It sounded like today were some sort of special occasion, but Ryuji couldn’t remember being told any of the likes, so he tilted his head with a confused expression on his face and a questioning hum. Needless to say, though, this was Akira, and that meant he put up a shit-eating smile, raised his chin and fixed his collar before following Panther ahead.

“So,” she began cheerily, letting her fingers brush some of the clothes while passing them by. “What do you need today?”

“Straight to the point, hm? A plain suit will do. Nothing too exceptional, simply…you know, well-groomed.”

For some reason, they both laughed at that, a sound that made Ryuji feel weird and gave him goosebumps because it was a bit eerie, as if they were plotting something. Maybe this eeriness was the reason it took him quite a long moment to actually grasp the meaning of their conversation.

“Suit? Whadd’re ya up to this time?”

“I’ll tell you once I get back. For now, you’re in Panther’s hands, although I suppose you’ll like her better than the others anyway.”

_You fuckin’ bet._

“Fine.”

There were at least half a dozen questions on Ryuji’s mind, but knowing Akira, he would answer precisely none of them now, so why waste the breath? Instead, they nodded at each other a last time before Akira left the place again to wherever, ditching Ryuji with a person he didn’t even know for god knew how long.

“Good to see he hasn’t changed.”

“How’s ‘t any good? Guy’s insane.”

Panther laughed again, folded her hands behind her back and smiled, shook her head and closed her eyes. She looked _incredibly_ happy for reasons Ryuji didn’t understand.

“It seems like you haven’t seen him on a bad day.”

He almost choked on his breath, because he was very well sure that he _had_. If not the scenery before their amazing prison break, then at least when Yuuki had almost bitten the dust some time ago – let alone the instances of Akira cutting either himself or Ryuji for some weird kinky blood and knife appreciation reasons.

Seriously, he didn’t even want to _consider_ the possibility of things getting even worse.

For now, though, he decided it’d be better to keep quiet and try to enjoy his few minutes or hours of normality – he usually had those while small-talking to Futaba over some food, but even that got boring for both of them after a while, not to mention he wasn’t stupid enough to miss the point that she usually wanted to be alone.

“Well then, gym boy.”

He was going to throw a fit about these bad nicknames _one day._

“Let’s see what we have. Nothing too exceptional, just a fine suit for a muscly guy. That’s rare.”

She was talking to herself, so he let her and waited until she was done circling him at least three times, taking some measurements and smiling to herself as if she’d won something in the lottery.

“There a problem?” he asked casually when she seemed to finally be done, but she shook her head and disappeared behind a shelf, humming to herself and completely ignoring his confusion. She was still the least crazy one of the bunch so far, but with every passing minute, she kind of started walking down the same path a little.

Then again, how else would she be able to endure Akira’s attitude?

“This one’s good. An itsy-bitsy tight maybe, but I suppose you won’t do any dangerous stunts in it.”

_Dangerous? Stunts?_

“’kay, listen. I ain’t got a clue what this’s even about, so if ya do, I’d _heavily_ appreciate if ya let me in.”

She giggled sweetly, returned and handed him a hanger with a plain black suit on it, a white dress shirt underneath and an almost blindingly yellow tie draped over it. In return, he couldn’t help but narrow his eyes at it, for he’d never before worn anything this fancy – suits  _so_ weren’t like him.

“Come on, Skull. That’s precisely what _he’s_ going to do. I couldn’t possibly steal that from him.”

_Why not_ , he thought but didn’t say it out loud,  because  _of course_ she couldn’t. Most likely something about Akira needing to be as extra as worldly possible while also making an intense drama out of something that didn’t need any special attention. So, basically, same as always.

He hated how used he was getting to this bullshit.

“Forget I asked,” he answered instead and looked down on himself, then at the suit again, and let Panther pull him to some sort of small changing booth although the term was bendable in this case, because it covered, like, half of the lower body at best. Considering she seemed to only have private customers, though, it somehow made sense. In a _friends with Akira_ kind of way.

Ryuji  _so_ hated how he was getting used to this.

He busied himself trying to figure out how to wear these proper clothes without ripping them to shreds, Panther snickering at how ridiculous it probably looked. It was still fine, though. As long as this whole situation was carefree, he could accept being ridiculed. Maybe he could even get  _some_ information out of her

“Hey, so…what’s you guys’ relationship?”

“Subtle.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes, not even sure if at the reply or the fact that he felt weird in the pants even though they fit. The fabric was horrible against his thighs, the waistband felt like it was cutting into his stomach and that was beside the point that pants that reaches his ankles were an absolute  _no-go._

Dropping his arms, he looked up at Panther who was sitting on the desk in the corner, letting her feet dangle and playing with her hair absent-mindedly.  There was now a frown on her forehead. Was she considering what to say and what not to? Did she even really  _know_ what their relationship was?

Then again, she had mentioned  _Akira on a bad day_ , so chances were pretty high.

“Ugh, fine. How ‘bout…you just tell me what kinda shop this is? It’s suspicious y’know.”

“Don’t say suspicious! Say something nice, like…elegant! Either way, I suppose since Joker trusts you, it’s alright. The whole clothes shop thing is an added extra to blend in better – initially, I used to be an escort only; and don’t you comment on that!”

He’d considered, but now decided to keep his mouth shut. Theoretically, it made sense. She was pretty, exotic even, and that made her an immediate attraction – he’d noticed it earlier, when her bright blue eyes had caught his attention right away. Still, it sounded incredibly dangerous for someone as carefree as she seemed to be.

Deciding to leave it at that for now, he began pulling on his way too tight shirt and tried to ignore the amused look she gave him for it. It was true, he _did_ look a little ridiculous in these small clothes, and the sad part was that he’d _already_ lost some of his form in prison, so under normal circumstances, he’d probably _rip_ the fabric he’d been wearing the last few weeks.

Somehow, it didn’t give him even bits of the satisfaction he felt he should feel about it. Maybe because none of this helped him in this situation _at all_.

He fought with the dress shirt a bit, realizing that it would have been easier to tug into his pants if he’d put it on first, thus deciding to leave it hanging loosely. Not very elegant, sure, but then again, when was he ever?

“You don’t fit into this kind of world, do you?” Panther suddenly asked, causing him to look up. Her cheerful expression had made room for a more serious one, she’d stopped playing with her hair and just stared him down in what seemed to be honest confusion.

Took her long enough to notice, really.

“Why’re ya so surprised’bout that?”

She gestured him to finish up getting dressed first, so he did, shooting her a skeptical look. At least unlike the pants, the dress shirt and jacket didn’t feel too bad on him; it was all a bit tight on his arms and shoulders, but not enough so to make it uncomfortable. He left the tie off and stepped out with his shoes still off, because they _really_ didn’t fit this.

“Not bad. I’ll admit you meet quite a lot of necessary conditions.”

“Conditions?”

“Oh, come on, Skull!”

Panther jumped up from the table and circled him _yet again_ , a finger on her chin, nodding to herself. Whatever she were seeing in him seemed to be _tremendously_ different from what Ryuji saw himself, because he doubted he’d nod at himself if he had a mirror.

“I mean, you don’t seem like the sharpest tool in the shed-”

Was anyone going to pay him any respect today?

“But you’re dedicated. Strong. I’m sure with some basic training, you’d make an excellent hitman.”

He choked for real this time, took a step away from her and raised his arms defensively, mentally preparing himself to take back _every single_ good thing he’d thought about her so far.

“ _Hitman?!_ Dude, you nuts?”

“ _Sorry._ ”

She didn’t sound very sorry.

“Why else should Joker choose someone like you?”

He was close to shouting _wish I fuckin’ knew_ as a reply, but it died in his throat when he let his brain comprehend the word _choose_. Somehow, he’d never really seen it as that. Things had seemed more like a coincidence – after all, anyone could have been forced to room with Akira, right? Ryuji didn’t see himself as a choice, but more as some unlucky bastard who’d been caught up in something simply because he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“What do you mean, _choose_?” he dared to ask, fiddling with the fabric of his jacket a little nervously. He’d been waiting for any kind of answers to his thousands of questions, but then again, was he ready to face them?

“Why do you think you’re still here, alive and breathing? Out of genuine kindness? Even you should have figured out that’s stupid to assume.”

Not wrong.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t asked himself the same question before – because he _had_ , in fact. Everything from _Why didn’t he kill me on sight_ to _How did I insult him and live through it_. Problem was, he couldn’t come up with an answer, because he was so incredibly far from anything that fit into Akira’s life; they could hardly be any more different even if they tried.

“I get where ya comin’ from, but honestly, I ain’t like that. You sure this’ the reason he let me live?”

“Well, it’s one of my _two_ guesses. It’s my less favorite one, though.”

“D’we need ya making a mystery outta this?”

“Yep!”

She giggled and slapped him on the back as if they’d known each other for decades. Something about her was endearing, and at the same time, she was scary in different ways than Akira was, but nonetheless _creepy_.

“Somethin’ tells me there’s a big chance of me not livin’ to see tomorrow.”

“Isn’t it thrilling?!”

For all that he cared, _no_. Not really. He much preferred the thrill of physically exhausting oneself without the constant possibility of getting knifed or shot in the back, thank you very much. But as things were, he couldn’t do much except wait. For Akira to return, for him to explain what this whole ordeal was about. For things to return to normal or get even worse.

As things were standing, he couldn’t help but believe it would be the latter.


	10. Faint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeh, so...  
> I ain't got much to say but: I kinda like this one, and I hope you will, too!  
> Thanks to all my peeps in the discord fueling me to write this. <3
> 
> PS: Trigger warning for violence and semi-explicit wound-treatment.

Time flew around Panther, Ryuji noticed. She’d treated him to some desserts in the back where she indeed seemed to live, answering his skeptical look with the words _Who’d be suicidal enough to harm Joker’s plaything_ , something that was reassuring but equally alarming, because yeah, good point on one hand, but also, _plaything?!_ Just no.

Eventually, Akira returned, watched them devour the sweets from a safe distance as if they _were_ actually poisonous, and finally began explaining at least the rough outline of their plan. Even before the first word left his mouth, Ryuji knew he wasn’t going to like what he’d hear.

“It’s simple, I need to…grab a package at an event, and someone to distract the bodyguards while I do. It would be easiest to bring a pretty woman like Panther, but apparently, inviting women goes against the hosts _aesthetics_.”

He rolled his eyes, sighed and dropped his fork on the plate, leaned back in the chair and raised an eyebrow, unsure if he’d gotten that right.

“So, you…what? Wanna have me start a commotion so you can steal some shit and then we run? Sounds easy enough.”

“It…shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Somehow, Akira didn’t sound half as confident about that as Ryuji would like him to. There was a deep frown on his forehead, arms crossed before his body – something was bothering him, and whatever it was, it sent an immediate shiver down Ryuji’s spine. Seeing someone so calm and collected be worried about a mission that should be simple wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“’kay then, when’re we leavin’?”

“You just…?”

“Wow, he’s an idiot!”

“Hey!”

He raised his arms defensively and looked from Akira to Panther and back. What had he done wrong this time?”

“Shouldn’t you be a _little_ more curious about the details on a mission that might get you hurt?”

Panther looked honestly confused, her head tilted, lips parted slightly, as if this agreement had been the stupidest thing she’d ever heard in her life; judging from her look, it seemingly was.

“I, uh…I dunno. If this guy says it’ll be fine, then I kinda trust’m on that, y’know?”

They both kept staring so Ryuji looked away, because he felt offended. It was only half of the truth, to be honest – most of all, he wanted some more detailed intel of what Akira was actually up to all the time; accompanying him was probably far from the safest way of doing so, but definitely one of the most yielding. Then, there was also the fact that Ryuji was slightly concerned about what would happen if he were to disagree. First of, he wasn’t exactly sure if saying _No_ was a decision he was allowed to make without getting in trouble, and second, Akira would either have to find someone else to help him or be forced to carry out this mission on his own.

Ryuji rolled his eyes at how stupid and logically questionable it was to actually worry about _Akira’s_ well-being more than his own, but he’d long since accepted that he was the kind of person to care more about others than himself, even if these _others_ included a self-harming, destructive, murderous maniac in a fancy suit on some sort of secret mafia mission.

“Either way, shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

He turned his head again and got up slowly. Every single movement in these horrific pants tortured him physically, but he knew it was a necessity – even if he felt like he’d still look like a punk next to Akira, whose black dress shirt was topped off with a red vest, black coat and an equally red bow-tie, hair slicked back in a successful attempt to get his usually messy locks under control.

“Right. Gimme five.”

Out of genuine concern, Ryuji had switched both his suit jacket and dress shirt with his own regular shirt again before eating, because no way would he in any way risk getting them ruined before even _leaving_ this place. He had a general idea of what they’d probably cost if he had to pay, and just the thought of that made him feel sick to the stomach.

Putting the fancy stuff back on now made him realize that this was in fact happening – he was going to accompany Akira on some sort of mission that he’d normally want nothing to do with under any circumstances. He knew people would probably laugh at that, considering he’d been to jail before, but it was so _different_ from that. This time, he wasn’t risking anything out of genuine kindness; this time, he was in to help something get stolen, for whatever reason.

When he got back to the kitchen, uselessly fidgeting with the tie and simultaneously trying to adjust the tight dress shirt, both Akira and Panther were already staring – the former’s mien unreadable as always, the latter’s _incredibly_ amused, because when wasn’t she?

“Y’all got a problem or somethin’?” Ryuji asked passive-aggressively, letting go of the dress shirt to properly fix the tie. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it in general, but he wasn’t _good_ at it either, and not having a mirror to help him wasn’t necessarily the best way to do it.

Sadly, before he could decide on just leaving it off and going tie-less, Akira had made his way over and was already reaching out for it with swift hands covered in deep red gloves. He seemed to like the color, and Ryuji couldn’t deny that at least the gloves made him feel _something_ – the way they played around Akira’s thin, skilled fingers when he fixed the tie effortlessly in fast yet smooth movements, let his hand linger on the bright yellow fabric for at least a little longer than necessary, his lips curling up to a thin smile and his eyes piercing right through Ryuji’s and into his soul.

“You look good in this.”

Akira’s voice was merely a whisper, a throaty murmur, reaching way too far into Ryuji’s comfort zone, but he couldn’t help inhaling deeply, nodding and swallowing hard. He considered saying something, but nothing besides _Thanks_ came to mind, and if that wasn’t the lamest thing to answer to such a compliment, he didn’t know what was.

“Do you want me to leave or something?” Panther asked suddenly, making Ryuji flinch because he’d been so deep in a trance. Before either of them had the chance to reply, she already continued on. “Get your asses out of here or you’ll be late.”

 _Right_. After all, they weren’t wearing these fancy outfits for nothing.

She accompanied them back through the store and out the front door, raising an arm sloppily to wave at Queen, who herself was leaning against the car, arms crossed, looking pissed as always – although if he squinted, Ryuji could swear that the smallest smile formed on her lips when she flipped her hand up in a quick greeting motion. Something told him that this was the friendliest gesture he’d ever see coming from her, and it was funny as much as it was sad.

“Thanks for the suit. I’ll try not to ruin it’n all,” he said while turning back around to Panther. She giggled and shook her head cheerily.

“Don’t worry. I’m used to Joker wrecking them to unrecognizability. I just overprice the ones that I _do_ sell to make up for it.”

She winked and put a finger to her temple as if to say _isn’t that smart_ , but Ryuji wasn’t definitely sure if it was. Then again, he reminded himself that this woman seemed to be _friends_ with Akira, unlike Fox or Queen who only seemed to work with him, so how could anything she did ever not be something dangerous and dumb?

“Alright then. See ya, I guess.”

“Until next time, Panther.”

“Stop your fancy-ass cool act and get lost, Joker! See you sometime, Skull.”

They finally left, Ryuji actively evading Queen’s eyes, because she was _already_ back to glaring at him, he _felt_ it. He still didn’t know any details about the mission, let alone why he was supposed to take part in it, but he knew better than to straight-up ask; if he’d learned a thing in the last weeks, then it was that if he _could_ stay out of things regarding Akira and any of his weird allies, he definitely should.

When he finally got a brief summary of the plan, he wasn’t sure if he’d preferred to not hear it.

“It’s a ball. Not a moderate one, either. That means lots of people, lots of security. I’ll let you know your exact part with the help of Navi analyzing the cameras when it’s time. Until then, the mission is to blend in and not raise any suspicion. Ah, and don’t forget this.”

To his utter dismay, Ryuji looked up to Akira handing him his stupid skull-shaped mask, which he’d hoped he’d never be forced to wear in any place that had more people than just the two of them in it – then again, the idea of having his face seen by at least some dozens or more people, right before disrupting and actively crashing their party, didn’t sound like the smartest idea ever either.

Groaning unpleasantly, he put it on.

“You ever gonna tell me what we’re even gonna grab there?”

Queen shot him a glare through the rear view mirror.

“No.”

“Queen, breathe. Maybe someday in the future, but not now, Skull.”

That was still more than he’d ever dared to expect, so he nodded silently and decided to stay safe for the rest of the ride by almost aggressively staring out of the window until they came to a halt.

From now on, it was all or nothing.

 

 

Getting in was the easy part; even an amateur like Ryuji could see that. Whatever kind of party this was, it was open for a big crowd, and he couldn’t yet say if that made him feel safer or more endangered. They got past the bouncers or whatever they were easily, apparently heading for the main hall. Every now and then, Akira would stop, lean in close to Ryuji’s ear and whisper something about their current position – cryptic words, mostly, like assigning them certain names _just in case_ – and Ryuji _really_ tried to keep as much of it in mind as possible, but part of him was busy frantically looking around as if everyone around them could potentially be dangerous.

That joke was on him, really, because the most dangerous guy out of probably all of them was, right now, walking next to him casually, slightly bumping their shoulders together from time to time; maybe to assure himself that they were still together without looking over, maybe to assure him that things were fine. Ryuji couldn’t tell either way.

When they finally, after two long hallways, two eternal flights of stairs, and another small hallway, reached the main scenery, it wasn’t unrealistic to call it the most preposterous, unnecessarily fancy event Ryuji had ever seen with his own two eyes.

There were enough people for him to feel a bit dizzy, yet enough room to loosen the masses. People were laughing, drinking, eating, dancing, and somehow, that made him a lot more uncomfortable than he’d like to admit. Something felt off. Like an act was being put on to distract from something bigger.

“We should blend in until the mission begins. Go through the details again.”

He looked over to Akira, who himself was fidgeting with his bow-tie as if it needed any fixing, and yet again, the almost liquid gloves did things to Ryuji – was it their blood red color reminding him of Akira’s true character, or just the fact that, for an unpredictable serial killer, he was outstandingly, almost unfairly attractive?

“Sure. I can…do that, I guess?” Ryuji proposed carefully and already turned away slightly to blend into the crowds for as long as needed, but Akira stopped him before he could get far, by merely putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly.

“Uh…what?”

There was a pleasant, poised smile on his lips, and yet Ryuji felt some sort of nervousness come from him, too. He tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows, but turned back fully, obviously absolutely unprepared for what Akira decided to kick at him as if it were nothing.

“Dance with me.”

The words seemed fragile between them, tuned out the place around them and the people in it. For a second, time seemed to stand still, and Ryuji considered laughing it off – but how could he, when Akira looked so serious, so _invested?_ Honestly, though, at least now he could still turn away, call it a dumb idea, say something about how it wasn’t clever to stick around each other, but just when he opened his mouth to protest, he felt the fabric around his neck tighten – Akira was pulling on his tie, and the only natural instinct was to lean in so it wouldn’t strangle him.

Immediately, Ryuji could observe three things.

One: They were way, _way_ too close.

Two: His gaze flicked between Akira’s eyes and his covered hands that still lay on the tie, the contrast of yellow and red more appealing than he’d like to admit.

Three: With his senses entirely engrossed in everything _Akira_ – his looks in the stupid suit, his attractive smile, the pleasant cologne he was wearing – Ryuji couldn’t help but nod instinctively and move in closer, stare deep into the eyes he knew belonged to the one person who would, eventually, pull him all the way down to hell.

“I-I dunno,” he finally pressed out nervously. First of all, he couldn’t even dance; obviously, he didn’t have any experience with it, and he doubted that Akira could cover that up even if he tried. Second, and most importantly, it was right after the short moment of wanting to get closer, that Ryuji remembered how _stupid_ that idea was. Sure, he was willing to try and _help_ Akira, whatever that meant in this specific moment, but that didn’t have to include their bodies pressing against each other’s tightly while dancing to a painfully slow song, right?

Right?

Yet even so, his protests died in his throat when he felt a single finger on his lips, looked down and locked onto the liquid red shushing him.

“It’s just a dance, Skull.”

It was _so_ not _just a dance._ They were still close enough that Ryuji could feel their breaths align, their heartbeats match.

“Y-yeah, too bad, ‘cause…I can’t dance.”

His voice cracked, even though it was merely the truth.

“Oh?”

Naturally, Akira was amused. He bit his lip and looked excited when his eyes followed his hand that was gently tracing down Ryuji’s side to his hip where he buried his fingers tightly.

“I suppose that makes me the leader then.”

His voice was but an aroused murmur by now, so close, so throaty that Ryuji could feel it vibrating against his ear, and even though he wouldn’t admit it, it was the final straw to make him give in, _lean_ in and press their foreheads together almost aggressively. This was already way too far, they were crossing lines they shouldn’t have ever come close to, and as much as he hated it, it was _thrilling._

“Fine,” he answered then, willing his voice to stay calm and steady. “Ya best make’t worth my time then.”

It was merely a second before they started moving, but in that second, Ryuji saw Akira’s eyes widen, saw a fire light up in them like he’d never seen before, and he couldn’t help but enjoy the shiver running down his spine.

By all means, it wasn’t the greatest dance ever seen by human eyes, but even so, it felt good, a lot better than he would have liked, and just for this fragile moment, when they were so close, when the whole world around them meant nothing, when the music in his ears turned into white noise engulfing him like a sweet lullaby, Ryuji let himself consider:

_Maybe this is alright._

The thought was soothing, relaxing, and the longer they moved, the more he believed it; believed that maybe there was a way for them to get along, a way for him to understand what was happening.

“You’re focused,” he heard Akira say slyly, an almost sardonic smile on his lips, his chin lifted so he could pretend to look down on Ryuji when they were actually about the same height. It should make him look ridiculous, but somehow, it did the trick it was supposed to do, and Ryuji immediately felt smaller, inferior even. Was it a bad thing to focus?

“S-so? Aren’t you?”

“Oh, I’m _focused_.”

As if he were proving a point, Akira dug his fingers deeper through the fabric of Ryuji’s white dress shirt, pressed their bodies closer together, navigated them way too close to a wall nearby and brought them to a halt so abruptly that they almost lost their balance.

“Dude, the fuck?”

“They’re switching dance partners.”

He let go of Akira and tried to back away a bit in order to perform a questioning gesture. Was this some sort of term he was supposed to understand? Because if so, he seemed to have failed.

“Your point?”

Akira laughed with little amusement in his voice, backed up and pushed Ryuji against the wall next to them, a little away from the dancing crowd, and leaned in closer.

“You honestly believe I’ll let someone here touch you?”

Ryuji swallowed, harrumphed, felt sweat drops form on his temples. As calm and relaxed as Akira had seemed until now, he was back in his usual mood – one that Ryuji couldn’t pretend he liked very much. Generally, he’d much prefer not to be touched by anyone else here, either, but that didn’t change the deadly tone in Akira’s voice, or the way he slowly put his arms around Ryuji’s neck to pull him closer.

This was enough.

This was _way too far._

“God, _chill_. Ya gonna blow up the mission over some stupid…”

_Jealousy?_

He couldn’t say it out loud, because then he’d have to admit that he knew, that he understood why Akira was being so possessive, and things were so, _so_ much easier as long as he pretended to be oblivious to it.

Yet even so, he couldn’t deny that it filled him with a weird sense of pride, made him feel special, treasured, as if he were more than just an escapee-delinquent trying to blend into the masses of a party that he didn’t even want to be at.

“I won’t. But I…”

He shook his head almost aggressively, tried to pull away when Akira leaned in closer, did everything he could to stop what he knew was going to be yet another insecure, unnecessarily complicated attempt at a kiss that would leave both of them even more confused than they already were.

Except Akira suddenly came to a halt, his eyes widened and he pulled away, looked around cautiously and grabbed Ryuji’s dress shirt by the collar.

“It’s time. You remember your part?”

As if it were hard enough to forget about, really.

“Sure. Wait for sign, cause a commotion in the masses, wait. It ain’t that hard, man.”

“I prefer being safe over being sorry, Skull.”

_If only that applied to whatever’s between you’n me, too._

“Yeah, fine. I’m good to go.”

“Splendid.”

With that, Akira finally let go, nodded, and turned around dramatically to do his part – which, whatever it was, he hadn’t said a single word about. In all honesty, though, Ryuji believed that it was better for him not to know, and instead focus on what he had to do.

It was simple, really. The sign was a coin being tossed in the air at a specific spot. He knew he’d be given enough time to position himself somewhere in the midst of the masses, but he wasn’t sure how much time he’d _exactly_ get, so he still tried to be quick about it. Somehow, and he hated the feeling, he felt sick to the stomach; as if his body expected things to go wrong, no matter how simple the mission seemed.

He found a spot with enough people that still gave him a good view of the room, and waited more or less patiently for the shining coin to rise. His hands were trembling, and he tried to hide them in his pockets casually, tried to pretend that he had some sort of business standing here, made it seem like he was looking around for someone while actually focusing on the right spot incessantly.

When it finally happened, things went quicker than he could have been prepared for. He flinched, almost instinctively screamed something about a fire, and let the crowd push him around in a desperate attempt to flee the harmless scenery. The whole room’s attention seemed to be centered somewhere next to him, and he almost allowed himself to grin about that proudly. He wasn’t in any kind of way skilled, but he knew how to raise attention by simply being himself, and for now, that seemed to have been enough.

But he didn’t get to enjoy his moment of triumph, because suddenly, after everything had been going fine, everything went horribly wrong. Guards weren’t storming in his direction anymore but instead further inside the hall. Chairs were being thrown, he heard a gunshot, then a second one, then a third, and he realized that whatever was happening couldn’t possibly be part of the plan.

He didn’t _need_ Akira bumping into him and pulling him along to understand that they had to run, but he was still glad about it. They somehow managed to push through the masses that were still trying to flee to the hallway, and made their way down the first flight of stairs. There were hardly any people here yet, except for a few that had run ahead as well, and Ryuji knew that if they hesitated, they’d get shot before they could reconsider.

“Skull, listen,” Akira said between heavy panting, his eyes blown wide with a fear that Ryuji had never seen him show, nails digging deep into where they were grabbing his wrist.

“You need to head to point C. Don’t stop, don’t look back, just run. There’s a balcony at the end of the hallway, and below it is a pond. Navi analyzed it. It’s safe to jump.”

“Why’re you tellin’ me this? Let’s just go!”

But when they’d conquered the stairs and hid in a small passage, Akira let go and came to a halt, shook his head almost aggressively and took a step back.

“They’ll easily catch us like that. I’ll buy you time. Go.”

“What?! No-”

“Skull! This isn’t _exactly_ the time to argue, is it?”

It wasn’t, and that was precisely why Ryuji wanted him to stop being an idiot and just keep going. If anything, they both knew who of them should stay behind.

“This’s stupid. Run or come up with a real plan, but not this bullshit!”

“Everything else is too _risky-”_

The last word was cut off by him grabbing Akira by the collar and shoving him into the wall angrily. They could be almost out of here already if it weren’t for him acting recklessly, and even though Ryuji could already hear loud steps getting closer, he needed to put his anger into words.

“I fuckin’ _hate_ this irrational side’f you. Pull yourself together and get real! We both know I’m the faster runner. I’ll easily outrun’em, so get fuckin’ lost!”

“Skull-”

“No! Fuckin’ _run_ already!”

For the shortest moment, it looked like Akira was going to continue arguing, but at the same time, the footsteps and the yells were coming dangerously close, and eventually, he simply nodded and ran ahead. _Good._ Now all Ryuji needed to do was get their attention and lose them before following suit. His leg wasn’t the same as it once used to be, but he knew he could still do a decent sprint, and the adrenaline rushing through him was all he needed to forget about the pain.

He let his pursuers follow him down the second flight of stairs, blended in between the people on their way to either enter or leave, and eventually hid behind the unnecessary, unused counter close to the entrance. He could probably get out through the front door, but he expected security to be too high, and instead waited for the people in the entrance hall to go crazy over the madmen with guns storming past them. Although he felt sorry for them, he needed them as distraction. If he could get back to the stairs, run back up and head for the balcony fast enough, they wouldn’t even notice him.

He waited, long enough for the commotion to ease up, listened to his racing heart and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His side hurt like crazy, but he blamed it on not breathing ideally and being out of shape.

_It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine._

At least he tried to tell himself that. He’d managed to get down here, so how much worse could getting back up get? If anything, his leg would kill him later, but he decided to ignore that for now, left his safe spot and tried to be as casual as possible while heading back up.

_They’ve all turned away. It’s fine._

If anyone had told him even just a few hours ago that he would find himself running from some armed guys in suits trying to kill him, he’d lave laughed bitterly and given up before even getting this far; yet here he was, carefully walking the way up to the second floor again, then dashing towards his destination as fast as he could.

Without looking back, he threw himself over the railing of the balcony and tried to land in the pond as graciously as possible, although the outcome was the same either way – he was soaked when he got out, and the hands pulling him up and helping him stand were frantic, hectic.

“Skull, are you-”

“’m fine. Can we…fuckin’ get outta here?”

Finally, he allowed himself to give in to the exploding headache that felt like it would kill him, closed his eyes and took calm, steady breaths. The pain in his side didn’t go away, and eventually, he followed his instinct to look down, finding that the fabric was torn and the dress shirt tainted red.

“Oh, shit,” he mumbled and tried to get a better look, but it wasn’t really an easy to inspect spot – and that was on top of the fact that he started feeling sick from the pain suddenly washing over him. Maybe a missed gunshot had blown off a piece of a tile on the walls which had then hit him or something. With the adrenaline exploding in him, he hadn’t felt anything.

“You…you’re hurt.”

Akira sounded shocked, but when Ryuji looked up to face him, there was sheer madness in his eyes, as if he’d just seen the world catch on fire. It was almost funny, really. Even though he hadn’t addressed it in the rush of fleeing, Ryuji very well knew that Akira had gotten injured as well – blood was wetting his pants somewhere way too close to the knee, and judging from the blood running down his face from the temple, he’d taken a decent blow to it before starting to run earlier.

“Ain’t really one to talk, are ya?” Ryuji tried to ease up the situation, but there was no denying that this had been way too close for a mission so casual, and the thought of possibly having messed up made him feel sick. He’d waited for the sign and acted upon seeing it, successfully causing a commotion like he’d been supposed to. Why had things gone wrong?

“Let’s move.”

Akira’s voice was cold, the look in his eyes still more than creepy, and he led them through what seemed to be a mix of garden and forest and to a bigger street. Unsurprisingly, Queen was already waiting for them, and her expression darkened immensely when she saw their condition, but she didn’t say a single word about it, even when they had long but left the area.

“Joker, did you…?” she suddenly began, sounding almost sheepish, and looked at him through the rear view mirror. Ryuji hoped that it would be enough to distract Akira from where he was _still_ aggressively expecting the wound on Ryuji’s side, but naturally, it didn’t.

“I have it right here.”

In one quick motion, Akira pulled something out of an inner pocket of the coat – a small casket of sorts, golden with _some_ kind of engraving on it, but before Ryuji could get a better look, it was already back in Akira’s pocket.

“I see.”

They fell silent for the rest of the ride back, but something was off, _wrong_. The way Akira almost stormed out of the car and headed for the main entrance, how he came to a halt inside and turned around as if to check if they had followed him; as if they’d had much of a choice, really.

When the door finally closed behind Queen, Ryuji allowed himself to relax. Now that they were inside and safe, things could only get better, right?

Wrong.

“How many missions need to end up failing before you start taking consequences, Joker?”

Instinctively, he got out of the way. Not that he wanted to watch them fight, but getting into it was even lower on the priority list. And if his stance was any indicator, Akira was _beyond_ mad. His fingers clenched to shaky fists, teeth pressed together tightly, eyebrows furrowed.

“You mind repeating that?”

His voice was thin as ice, and even though he wasn’t the one targeted, Ryuji swallowed, flinched and considered telling Queen to flee. But she seemed to busy being mad as well, and, instead of taking a hint, went on.

“You’re getting us all _killed_!”

Her last word was high-pitched, because there was already a hand pressing her into the wall and the tip of a knife digging into her chin. There wasn’t a doubt that just the smallest wrong movement could result in her death, but from what Ryuji could tell, Akira remained unmoving, face so close to Queens that it looked like they were whispering to each other, but through the dead silence in the hallway, Ryuji could hear every single word.

“Don’t worry, Queen,” Akira started quietly, letting the blade trace down her chin and to her chest, leaving a long, bleeding, straight cut. She flinched once but didn’t move, she was trembling, she was _crying_ , and it was horrifying to watch.

“If I do get you killed, it’ll be slowly, painfully. And believe me this: I will make sure to be your executioner.”

He stopped, watched the blood drip down her chest, smiled at it tainting her sky-blue blouse, raised an eyebrow at how scared she was, and dug just a little deeper into the skin, causing Queen to let out a startled, shocked sound.

She’d never been Ryuji’s favorite person to begin with. She was rude, judging, commanding, blamed him for things she surely knew he had no say in, didn’t even try to treat him properly and, overall, probably deserved his dislike. But even so, even if he wished he wouldn’t have to confront her anymore, that didn’t mean he wanted her to _die._

So, naturally, he took a quick step forward and reached out cautiously, carefully. Who knew what Akira would do if he was this mad? Ryuji had rarely seen him with such a mad look in his eyes, and it was no less than frightening.

“Joker. Hey. D’you really wanna kill her?”

All he could do would hope that the answer was no, that Akira wouldn’t tick out and turn against him, that his fingers slowly digging through the suit jacket’s fabric on the shoulder would be enough to calm him down.

There was a long, _very_ long moment of nothing; of the blade’s tip digging into Queen’s skin near the collarbone, of complete motionless silence except for their breaths. Then, so abruptly that it made Ryuji jump, Akira pulled back, looked away, took a deep breath and chuckled humorlessly.

“You know, Skull…lately, that’s a very good question.”

With that, he headed for the stairs, but if he believed Ryuji was done with him, he was _wrong._ Before he could follow ahead, though, he heard Queen’s voice call him out.

“I…I didn’t ask for your help.”

He gestured wildly at her stupidity.

“Oh, ‘xcuse me, Queen Suicide, couldn’t’ve known you wanted to die here.”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, uh, then…god, whatever, I ain’t got time for your bullshit!”

With that, he hurried up as well, and barely saw Akira disappear behind a corner. But Ryuji wouldn’t be himself if he weren’t _extremely_ stubborn if necessary, so he ran, and just before Akira could manage to steal away into his room, Ryuji managed to grab him by the wrist and effectively stop him.

“Why’re you runnin’ from me?”

“Let go of me, Skull.”

He didn’t reply and didn’t move, convinced that that was enough to assure Akira that he wouldn’t back down.

“You’re a nuisance, sometimes.”

“Yeah, I bet. That’s why you were so irrationally scared I might get hurt, huh?”

“You _did_ get hurt!”

Akira gestured to his side with his free hand, and cringed at how bad it seemed to look. Ryuji still hadn’t tried to give it a proper look, and even now, he was too busy staring at the dry line of blood on Akira’s face to even consider peeking down.

“Yours are worse, dude. I won’t let’ya just drop into bed without takin’ care of’em.”

Surprised by the words, Akira flinched and shook his head. That didn’t seem to be what he had been expecting, at least if the confused expression on his face was anything to go by. He looked down to his leg, seemingly unimpressed, and wiped part of the blood off his temple, but if anything, that only made it look worse.

“C’mon, dude. You gotta have some sort’a private doctor, right?”

He nodded.

“Well, time to go.”

“No.”

And Ryuji was already taking a deep breath to argue when Akira raised his hand defensively and sighed in defeat.

“I can take care of it myself, though. With…a little help.”

They didn’t discuss anything, just wordlessly headed for the closest bathroom, Ryuji squinting at the way Akira tried to hide the fact that he was limping. There was no use in denying that whatever had hit him was bad, and even less reason to pretend to be fine, because he _obviously_ wasn’t.

But Ryuji didn’t say anything, at least until he’d kicked off his shoes and thrown the suit jacket on top of them. That made the wound on his side a little better to see, but he figured that he’d still have to take the dress shirt off, too, to inspect it more closely. However, that was far from his top priority. Instead, he focused on Akira, who was sitting down next to the floor-embedded bathtub and watching it get filled with water. There was something sheepish about the way he inspected the wound under his left knee, as if he didn’t know how to deal with it.

“You know y’ain’t gonna get a good look with those on?” Ryuji asked sarcastically, pointing at the suit pants Akira was wearing. It wasn’t supposed to sound like some weird kind of offer, but it wouldn’t be him if he didn’t take it as one, because he looked over his shoulder, smiled smugly and made a questioning sound.

“I didn’t know you were so eager to see me out of these.”

“Sure, man. Whatever floats your goat. You want my help here or not?”

He sighed, took off the pants and revealed what seemed to be a piece of a bullet shell in his skin – it looked nasty enough to make Ryuji blink rapidly, but not as bad as he’d expected.

“Y’got lucky?”

“No. I just acted quickly.”

Akira pointed at the drawers below the sink without looking up from the wound.

“Second one on the right. There should be forceps and a scalpel in there, disinfectant in the one below, needle and thread in the second to last.”

Considering that he would probably start digging into the wound with his fingers if not handed the tools quickly, Ryuji hurried to find them. There was _far_ more than those things in the drawers, but he decided against giving any of them too much of a look before turning back and grabbing some towels and small cloths from the shelf next to the drawer.

“Make a clean cut from here,” Akira started, sounding bored, pointing at a spot right next to the bruise. “To up here.”

“You want me…to make it _worse?_ ”

He rolled his eyes and sighed, reaching out for the tools himself, but Ryuji quickly held them in the other direction. This didn’t sound safe or easy at all.

“Ryuji. Either do it or give me the scalpel and I will do it myself.”

Considering the position of the metal piece, it didn’t look like he’d be _able to_ do it himself, at least not properly.

“You’re so goddamn _reckless._ Fine, I’ll do it. Don’t scream though.”

Somehow, when he dug the cleaned, small blade into the wound and cut the skin open slowly, he wished that Akira _would_ scream, or protest or even just clench his teeth; anything to show that he was human enough to feel the pain, but instead, he looked bored, tired, disinterested in the whole procedure, as if it were some kind of annoyance that he didn’t deserve to endure.

“Why exactly am I doin’ this?”

“To make sure the piece doesn’t worsen the injury _inside_ and to get it out safely.”

That _so_ wasn’t what he’d meant.

“You’re fulla shit, dude. You should go see a doctor.”

“Over a bullet shell in my leg? _Please_. She’d probably dig it in deeper to see what happens, and as payment for me wasting her time.”

He stopped, blinked rapidly and shook his head. Another instance of not a single person Akira knew being normal, it seemed. He didn’t think that about himself often, but out of all the people he knew, Ryuji was _certain_ that he was the least crazy one, and by far, too.

“You’re fuckin’ insane, dude.”

He put the scalpel to the side and grabbed the forceps with shaking hands, took a deep breath and frowned at Akira, who was looking up at him expectantly, too.

“You’re saying that as if it’s news to you.”

“Nah. Just a lil surprised every single time.”

Even through his tough words, he was trembling, trying to focus on keeping his hand steady, but eventually using the other one to support himself. The shell part was really small, although he wondered what had caused it to burst, and if the rest of it had hit someone else. If anything, Ryuji didn’t want his mess-up to cause anyone else trouble.

Before he could offer doing it, Akira was already working on the needle and thread to close the wound after washing it properly; it was hardly a few centimeters long, but somehow, this do it yourself surgery still made Ryuji feel sick – was it Akira’s lack of care or his experience in actually doing these things that made this so awkward? Probably a mix of both, really.

“Now, about your wound,” Akira started while sewing his skin, a sight that Ryuji decided he didn’t want a part of, thus wetting one of the towels in the warm water and wiping the blood from the cut on Akira’s temple. At least that one wasn’t as bad – he’d probably taken a hit from someone wearing a ring, but it had long since stopped bleeding.

“I’m fine.”

“Ryuji.”

He rolled his eyes passionately.

“You just want me to undress, dude.”

For the first time since the start of their mission, Akira let out an amused sound, almost like a cut-off chuckle, but didn’t answer. Ryuji sighed and rolled his eyes; even if it was a joke, he would’ve liked to hear _some_ sort of denial, but then again, he knew better.

Eventually, Akira was done, inspected the fixed wound once more and, in one quick motion, reached out and ripped the fabric of Ryuji’s dress shirt where the cut had torn it open already.

“Hey!”

He tried to fight back, but quickly found himself with his back against the warm floor with Akira on top of him, one hand holding him down on the chest, the other undoing the buttons on his dress shirt painfully slowly.

“Don’t panic. I’ll only inspect your wound.”

An eerie grin crept up to Akira’s lips, fingers playing with the tie and tracing down Ryuji’s skin once he was done unbuttoning

“Unless you _want_ me to do more than that.”

“Akira.”

“I’m kidding.”

He wasn’t, at least not entirely, but he seemed to have the decency to hold himself back on it. The worst part, probably, was that Ryuji felt his body react to the touch. A shiver ran down his spine, an appreciative hum bubbled up inside him, and he had a hard time stopping himself from reaching out himself and pulling Akira in closer. He felt his body be pulled up again and realized it was so that he’d take off the dress shirt.

“Beefy,” Akira chuckled at him and pointed to some point on his upper arm where the fabric was torn. Somehow, it was embarrassing, but then again, he’d known it was a bit small for him.

“Ain’t my fault. Panther picked it.”

“Oh, I’m sure. She has taste.”

He let Akira trace over the wound carefully with a wet cloth, and was glad that it revealed only a small incision underneath all the blood. That explained why it didn’t hurt that much, and why it had only barely restricted him while running away earlier.

“See? Ain’t half as bad.”

“You got hurt.”

Akira’s voice was colder again, the look in his eyes a mixture of bothered and resigned, but Ryuji still didn’t understand his problem. Sure, they’d faced some trouble, but they were alive and the mission had been a success. If it weren’t for Queen’s ominous words, he wouldn’t even have given it much more thought.

“Dude, you’re making it sound like that’s your fault. Which is stu-”

“What if it is?”

He blinked, but didn’t answer, raised an eyebrow questioningly and shook his head.

“I mean, what if I messed up and caused them to catch us out?”

“Uh, then…I guess that’s too bad, but how exactly will mournin’ it change anythin’?”

“Ryuji!”

Akira grabbed a fistful of the dress shirt on the floor, inspected the bloody gash in it and clenched his fist angrily, bit his lip and seemingly tried to put it into words.

“I never should have taken you along. I could have gotten you _killed_ and you weren’t supposed to even get _hurt_ because of me and-”

“Akira, _dude_. Breathe.”

He did. Steady breaths, his right hand still holding the dress shirt, his left applying pressure onto the cut. It was the first time he showed his feelings so intensely, made himself seem so vulnerable, and as much as Ryuji had been wanting to see a more human side to Akira, he couldn’t deny it scared him, too. He’d never seen anyone so _obsessed_ with the safety of someone they hardly even knew, and he had yet to understand why Akira even cared so much.

“I…look,” Ryuji started groundbreakingly, rolling his eyes at his own uselessness.

“I ain’t got a clue what exactly went wrong, but I don’t care either. If ya messed up, then ya made up for it by gettin’ us out, still.”

“ _You_ got us out.”

He laughed humorlessly and shook his head.

“I was frozen in place until ya came runnin’ and pulled me along. Cut yourself a lil slack, ‘kay?”

Akira nodded, let go of both the shirt and the towel, took of his suit jacket and mindlessly threw it somewhere.

“Time to wash off the remainders of this freak show,” he mumbled quietly, got up and reached out to help Ryuji do the same. They were two anything-but-hot messes right now, and if this situation were any less serious, he’d probably find it humoring how they looked like two clowns, one not wearing pants, the other shirtless, but as things were, it wasn’t even remotely funny.

He felt hands reach around his neck, decided to let it happen just this once and reached out, too, buried his fingers in the wrinkly dress shirt that Akira was still wearing. They were, yet again, way too close, but right now, it was soothing; to know that someone cared, that he wasn’t yet _entirely_ alone in this cruel, ruthless, merciless world suffocating him day after day.

And as much as he _wanted_ to shift at least part of the blame for that on Akira, he found himself unable to when he felt one single sob against his neck, and heard a broken, desperate, longing voice whisper:

“I need you.”


	11. Bonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time fo' some...  
> feelz, bro.  
> On a more serious note, please check out the wonderful art that was done for this fic right [here](http://ionomycin.tumblr.com/post/176569761586/inspired-by-shackled-an-amazing-p5-au-fic-that-i). It's amazing and I love it. ;_;  
> (tw mention if abuse / rape)

When Ryuji awoke the next morning, it was with a disgusting headache, and his side hurting as if someone had rammed a knife into it.

Wait. Oh.

He groaned in pain, tried to open his eyes and scowled at the feeling of something on his face. An animal? A cloth? Considering that it was soft but  _ moved _ , maybe both? Neither? He blinked a few times and looked up at what turned out to be a face right over his.

Oh, okay.

“Wha—?!”

The sole reason he didn’t shoot up and knock their foreheads together was that he was being held back on the chest. Well, who could this be?

“Akira. Dude. The fuck?” was the limit of coherent words he managed to get out before giving up and resting back against the soft pillow.

“You got a fever,” Akira explained simply, as if that were the answer to anything Ryuji could possibly end up asking.

“No, dude, like, why’re you here, how long’ve you been...shit, why am I even surprised anymore?”

With a deep sigh, he closed his eyes and tried to recall what had happened. Mission? Check. Almost getting shot while fleeing from the scenery? Double-check. Akira yet again making things even more complicated than they already were? Check-counter somewhere off the goddamn charts.

“I wanted to see you.”

God, why had he  _ asked?! _

“If only you were this honest ‘bout everythin’, man.”

Ryuji managed to sit up, inspected the bandaged wound on his side and, considering the big red stain on it, figured that it had been bleeding again.

“Ah, shit.”

Carefully, he looked up to meet Akira’s eyes, not in the slightest surprised to see them blown wide like those of a wild, angry animal.

“Hey, y’ain’t gonna freak out over this, are ya?” he asked, trying to sound casual, aware that Akira took even the littlest injury on him very  _ personally _ . It was a dangerous mixture of creepy and endearing.

“Well, that depends on how you would define it,” Akira replied calmly, turning the wet cloth he’d been pressing against Ryuji’s head in his hands way too casually.

“Am I going to run back and blow up the place in hopes of killing whoever hurt you? Unlikely.”

Why couldn’t he just say something like  _ definitely not _ ?

“Am I going to have a word with the people who pressured me into taking you with me? Yes. Will it be nice? I suppose that depends on the side of the blade you’re on.”

“Dude.”

He fell silent, but didn’t look very apologetic about saying it. Ryuji didn’t like that at all, obviously.

“Look. Akira. I know you’re — and for reasons that are far beyond me — insanely obsessed with my safety. But ain’t there any methods other than torture and murder?”

He didn’t answer, instead looked away and leaned against the headboard of the bed frame. Apparently, he had to actually  _ think _ about that question, as if only violence made sense to him.

“I wasn’t raised to  _ talk _ ,” he said eventually, but didn’t explain any further, even when Ryuji properly sat up and gave him a confused look.

Raised? He’d already wondered before, if Akira had been pulled into this life at some age, or never known anything else at all. Lately, everything suggested the latter, and it made Ryuji incredibly mad.

“Well, ain’t never too late t’learn somethin’ new, right?” he suggested and leaned against the headboard as well, taking a deep breath.

“Lie back down.”

He frowned, blinked twice and looked over to Akira, who was almost aggressively trying to stare him down.

“What?”

“Which part of  _ you got a fever _ did you miss?”

None, actually, and thinking about it, he  _ felt _ a little feverous, too, but he wasn’t going to allow himself the time to dwell in that. There were things they needed to address — especially about this  _ talk _ Akira wanted to have, which Ryuji knew would not be a talk at all but rather some sort of brutal torture.

He watched Akira look down on his own knee. It seemed to be alright, which  _ could _ be due to him actually sewing it up like nothing. Apparently, though, he hadn’t lost any of his self-destructive attitude, because he was already digging his fingernails into the fabric again, trying to tear it apart and hurt himself more.

“Akira.”

He stopped but didn’t let go, just looked up to meet Ryuji’s eyes. Something about him seemed terribly tired, exhausted, and confused, and caused Ryuji to reach out and gently loosen his grip on the bandage.

“Why do you always hurt yourself? It ain’t helpin’ anythin’.”

At least he hadn’t torn the wound open, and he didn’t try to pull away, but the way he was sitting — one leg pulled up to his chest tightly, a hand resting on it, nails trailing over the shin as if considering if he should scratch the skin open...it was worrying, to say the least, and made him seem incredibly vulnerable.

Ryuji didn’t like the sight at all. And he especially didn’t like Akira’s explanation.

“The mental pain hurts so much more, Ryuji.”

His voice broke a little, and as stupid as it seemed, Ryuji felt his heart break alongside it as well. Maybe he shouldn’t feel this sorry for someone so dangerous, someone so very  _ close _ to the brink of  _ evil _ , whatever that meant anyway.

But he couldn’t help it. As much as he wanted to roll his eyes at himself for it, he put his arm around Akira’s shoulder slightly and pulled him just close enough for it to count as leaning against each other.

“What—”

“Shut up, dude. Just. Don’t say a damn thing.”

Luckily, he didn’t, fell quiet instead and hummed weakly. Unluckily, he took it further than intended, inched closer and made it seem way more like a hug. Ryuji wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, but he definitely didn’t have it in himself to refuse. He listened to their quiet heartbeats, tried to ignore the pain in his side and considered bringing up yesterday’s failure in some way. Akira had mentioned it being his fault, but refused to elaborate. 

“You’ve got the thinking-wrinkles again. I like them.”

“Akira.”

He chuckled and hummed again, closed his eyes and, for a change, seemed to be at peace. It was good to see him like that, especially when he was as internally mad as he’d proven just a few minutes ago, so Ryuji allowed himself to relax as well, leaned back against the headboard and let his eyes fall shut. Somehow, being like this carried a similar intimacy to dancing together, just less fiery and more soothingly.

“What about your leg?” he asked carefully, shifting his own a little so it wouldn’t accidentally bump into the wound.

“It’s fine.”

“Akira—”

“No, it is. I have to admit, though, my body feels…whacked.”

Surprisingly honest for someone who liked to play his wounds down, Ryuji had to give him that. However, the words had alarm bells ring in his head. As someone who’d always been eager and dedicated when it came to physical health, not only did he not want to see Akira turn into an entire wreck — he also had a decent knowledge about what could help him. Since he was already in the perfect position, he slowly trailed over Akira’s back and pressed the heel of his hand right between the shoulder blade and the cervical spine.

Ryuji expected an immediate reaction — jumping away from the motion was typical, or a shocked gasp at the feeling of not being able to breathe for a moment. Somehow, though, he’d forgotten that Akira didn’t quite fall into any regular norms, so instead, he simply took a sharp breath and looked at him in sheer terror.

“Stop.”

And before Ryuji even got the chance to explain himself, to prove that he knew what he was doing and that it would eventually help:

“Actually, don’t. It’s weird. Is it supposed to hurt? I don’t care. Do it again.”

He rolled his eyes, searched for the right spot and carefully pressed his palm into it again. The sound Akira made was neither pleased nor angry, but somewhere between it; confused, maybe.

“You’re a mess. Turn over.”

Ryuji regretted the words before he’d fully said them, rolled his eyes towards the ceiling when Akira let out an amused sound, and sighed deeply because  _ really,  _ he should have seen this coming.

“You’re eager today—”

“I swear to god, lie your ass down or I’ll reconsider.”

Surprisingly enough, Akira obeyed, dropped flat on his belly without much of a ceremony, and let his head rest on his folded arms. Before Ryuji’s fingers even so much as touched him, Akira hissed and shook his head.

“What?”

“I can’t believe I’m turning my back on someone. You could…freely hurt me.”

Instead of replying, Ryuji bit his lip and reached out again, carefully let his hands trail over the thin shirt Akira was wearing, not sure if asking him to take it off would lead him to another useless attempt at putting up his partly-real partly-trolling flirt. Before he got the chance to consider, though, he heard the softest, smallest kind of whine and  _ immediately _ pulled away.

The silence between them was heavy, suffocating, and when he felt the soft vibration of sobbing into the pillow, Ryuji realized that he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He didn’t even know if Akira was scared of  _ him _ , if he would get angry and attack if he dared to touch him, and he also didn’t understand what had even triggered this.

But he needed to do  _ something _ , he knew that much. So even though he knew it was nothing short of  _ risking his life _ , he slowly reached for Akira’s shoulder, let his fingers rest there for a moment to make sure nothing bad happened, and let out the breath he hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he tried carefully, silently, and dared to let his fingers run over the neckline without any suggestion to go further than that. He wanted to make it clear that he wasn’t a threat.

“I know.”

Akira’s voice was muffled by the pillow, but Ryuji could still hear how it broke, could still see fingers digging into the fabric, could still feel the body next to his shake, tremble.

He decided to let go before he could make things even worse. Whatever he’d said or done, he’d triggered a  _ horrible _ memory, and as much as he wanted to understand, wanted to try and  _ help _ , it probably wasn’t his place to do that. So he let go, turned away and kept a safe distance, bit his lip to keep his mouth shut and listened to the quiet, painful sobs next to him. It was horrifying, hearing,  _ seeing _ Akira, of all people, give in to his own vulnerability like that. It was so unlike him to act human that it seemed foreign whenever he did, and Ryuji  _ knew _ how rude it was to be so confused about this exposure, just because Akira rarely showed any signs of it.

After all, everyone had their limits.

He felt a hand on his waist, then on his wrist, and let it guide him to wherever — this  _ wherever _ turned out to be Akira’s head, and he dropped Ryuji’s hand there like a sack of potatoes, chuckled, sniffed and swallowed before breathing more easily.

“Sorry for whatever caused this,” Ryuji said carefully, gently combed through Akira’s hair like he was apparently supposed to, and smiled when he got a purr-like hum in return.

“You did nothing wrong,” Akira explained calmly, leaned into the touch and finally relaxed. Even so, Ryuji wasn’t quite sure about that. Something about him reaching out had caused this reaction, even if he wasn’t the person who was responsible for Akira despising being touched.

No, correction: He didn’t despise it. He  _ feared _ it.

“Hey, uh, no pressure, but...sometimes it helps to talk, y’know?”

Ryuji made sure not to sound pushy, simply because he wasn’t entitled to anything. Helping those in need was ingrained in every fiber of his being, he couldn’t stop it, but he knew that not everyone always  _ wanted _ this help.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try, though.

To his own surprise, Akira reacted by promptly sitting up, still turned away from him, crossed his legs and reached for his shirt’s hem with both hands, let them linger there for a moment, took a deep breath and shook his head. Then, in a quick, swift motion, he pulled the shirt over his head and let it fall to the side next to himself. Ryuji gasped before he could stop himself. Then, there was dead silence between them for a very long time.

He should have said something. He should have  _ done _ something.

But all he found himself capable of was cursing — cursing whoever had done what he was seeing, cursing the way Akira hugged himself tightly and visibly dug his nails into his sides, cursing the way he was shaking and trying to breathe calmly.

“Who the fuck? Why the  _ fuck _ ?! This is horrible.”

His shoulder blades were littered in white scars, faintly visible due to his growth, it seemed, which made it only so much  _ worse _ . They had to be so, so old.

But they weren’t even the worst part.

Underneath them, reaching down to his tailbone, were brandings — at least that was what they looked like. Healed, but scarred burns all over his back, in a weirdly symmetric kind of pattern.

“They’re so old you’d believe I’d have forgotten about how I got them, but…”

Akira chuckled weakly, made himself as small as he could and sighed.

“I remember as if it had been yesterday that they forced it all into me. The needles, the ink, the heat, their own  _ bodies. _ ”

He whispered,  _ whined _ the last words, but to Ryuji, it still felt like screaming. They repeated themselves in his head again and again and  _ again _ and he wanted to scream, too, find whoever was responsible for this and—

He wasn’t proud of it, but he’d  _ pay _ to see them suffer.

“I’m sorry,” was the smartest thing he managed to get out, and he knew it didn’t help a thing, but he was at a total loss for what to do. This was so,  _ so _ far from what he’d expected to happen.

“It’s over. It’s  _ fine _ , usually. But I…”

Akira sighed and turned his head around enough so that their eyes met. His were still slightly red from crying earlier, and he looked even more tired, but there was something endearing in the way he bit his lip nervously and tried to explain himself.

“I don’t understand why, even though all these things made me hate even just the idea of trusting anyone ever again…I trust you. It’s irrational, it’s  _ reckless _ , but I want nothing more than to let myself fall and hope you’ll catch me.”

And because this unusually honest, open and defenseless confession came out of nowhere, caught him off guard, Ryuji didn’t even find the time to think before he already said:

“Do it.”

He didn’t expect Akira to  _ literally _ let himself fall, but somehow, he did, leaned back and almost  _ forced  _ himself into Ryuji’s arms. It turned into a weird, cautious hug, but a hug nonetheless. They stayed like that for god knew how long, only semi-comfortable, but still at ease, and Ryuji only began questioning it when he felt Akira’s breath calm down suspiciously much.

Had he…?

He had. And that left Ryuji in a  _ pretty _ tricky situation, because how do you put someone to bed if they’re always on alarm? There was no way in hell he wouldn’t wake Akira up if he tried. But at least like this, he had a moment to think, while combing through the messy streaks of black hair, listening to the even breath and heartbeat and trying not to picture the things he’d heard even though the image had already burned itself into his mind. 

It made him  _ furious _ .

Of course it didn’t undo any of the bad things Akira himself had done — although Ryuji still had no idea about most of them — but it  _ explained _ a lot, and it definitely made him appear much more in need of help than he’d seemed so far.

Suddenly, it was as if not  _ all _ hope was lost with him. Maybe there was at least a  _ chance _ of convincing him that this way of living just wasn’t right, that he could still change it and make better decisions — in case he  _ wanted _ that, of course. Ryuji couldn’t yet say if it was good or bad that they  _ both _ trusted each other irrationally much, because neither of them  _ should _ , but at least that made things a lot easier.

If Akira was being honest about it, at least.

Ryuji sighed, subconsciously leaning his face against the crook of Akira’s neck,  _ obviously _ immediately causing him to wake, tense up and take a sharp breath.

“Ah, sorry,” Ryuji started carefully. “It’s just me.”

“I fell asleep.”

_ Oh, right back to stating the obvious. _

“You don’t fuckin’ say.”

“No, silly.”

For some reason, sleepy-Akira was weirdly endearing — kind of cute, almost innocent. Ryuji knew he’d kick himself into the moon if he ever accidentally said that out loud.

“Turning my back on people is like signing up for homicide. But falling asleep against them? That’s a new level of stupid.”

He sighed deeply, but instead of making a move to change this admittedly very  _ devoted _ positioning, he instead purred silently and leaned in  _ further _ .

“I’ll take it since you didn’t use this chance to kill me, it’s safe to assume you won’t.”

“Ain’t that a huge-ass surprise, man.”

He chuckled lightly, seemingly not planning to move anytime soon. Ryuji didn’t like it, as much as he unwillingly did, but decided to endure it for as long as it would take. He wouldn’t admit it loudly, but he knew he’d long since lost the battle against his voice of reason. He really  _ was _ too nice sometimes.

“You feelin’ a lil better?” he asked quietly, not sure if he should address the topic further or just drop it. He felt a nod against his face, though, a hum vibrating right next to his ear, a content sigh brushing along his cheek. He’d have to lie if he claimed the mood swings didn’t worry him, because they did.

“I don’t usually let myself…dwell in the past.”

It sounded like an apology, although he didn’t entirely understand for what. He wasn’t complaining, after all.

“Like I told ya, dude. You’ve been tryin’ too hard. Can’t pile everythin’ up forever, y’know?”

“Well then, what about you?”

Akira finally pulled away and turned around so that they were facing each other. He immediately looked cocky again, pushy even. But maybe that was just him trying to change the topic.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. There’s things you’re keeping secret, and I have yet to understand if you even want me around or not.”

A high-pitched noise left Ryuji’s throat before he could stop himself. It wasn’t really funny, but the fact that he couldn’t answer that because he didn’t  _ have _ an answer had some kind of macabre irony to it.

“I’ll tell ya’s soon as I know it.”

Even so, he sighed, scowled and thought about the words. Of course it was true that he was hiding things — thinking about it, he had yet to talk to Futaba about his mom and her safety, but that was something he would  _ definitely _ keep from Akira for as long as possible.

“This shit ain’t easy,” he finally started sheepishly, gesturing around as if that proved his point. Judging from the look on Akira’s face, it didn’t.

“I don’t really wanna be here, but it also ain’t  _ that _ bad most of the time. Is probably safer in here now than anywhere else, so I try to tell myself it’s fine? Just ain’t used to being so…locked away, I guess.”

Ryuji took a deep breath and looked down on his legs when he realized he was being stared at. Was that awkward? Probably yes. Yesterday, Panther had called him out for agreeing on the mission as if it weren’t dangerous, and as much as he understood that, he still wasn’t sure how much of a choice he had.

Lately, he was just going with the flow about things, it seemed.

“It wasn’t supposed to feel like being  _ locked away _ ,” Akira replied slowly, although seemingly aware that there was hardly any other way this  _ could _ be conceived.

“Yeah, I know that now,” Ryuji quickly intervened, shook his head and looked back up, fingers fiddling with the fabric of the yet again too small shirt he was wearing.

“It needs time, man. I’m tryin’.”

He reached out, took Akira’s hands into his before he could even think about harming himself again, and refused to let go even when he was met with protest.

“How many times do I gotta tell ya?”

“It needs time, too.”

That, Ryuji could accept. They were both trying, it seemed, and even though he wouldn’t forget about their extremely dangerous past mission anytime soon, he knew he’d willingly go on another, if only it means having  _ some _ sort of meaning and importance. They weren’t  _ fine _ , let alone doing  _ well _ , but they could still work towards that.

Seeing the tired, almost desperate look in Akira’s eyes, he decided to push his luck a little further than he should, and said:

“Hey, since ya opened up t’me so much…think ya can keep a secret?”

Akira chuckled dryly and raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Who would I tell it to?”

Instead of answering that, Ryuji supported himself on the bed with one hand, leaned over and placed his lips right next to the corner of Akira’s. 

It wasn’t a kiss.

It wasn’t  _ not _ a kiss.

But whatever it was; when Ryuji saw Akira’s shocked expression ease, lips curling up to a thin, weak smile, eyes closing slowly, head falling forward as if reaching out for support, it gave him the hope to believe things would be alright.

Someday.


	12. Approach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took forever, and absolutely didn't do what I wanted it to, but here it is!! <3  
> I've been obsessed with Detroit: Become Human lately, but I still love my soft bois a lot......

The following days were different, to say the least.

Akira hardly came back from a mission before already departing on the next, leaving Ryuji little to no time to judge him for whatever new wounds he had on full display. They were plenty, to say the least, but he tried to keep his mouth shut if it didn’t look too severe — he didn’t understand the reasoning behind it, but he forced himself to accept them as a sort of necessity for now.

That was, until he made his way upstairs from some random talk with Futaba, and encountered Akira, surrounded by Ryuji’s two least favorite people, in the living room, all casually.

“Right. Almost forgot that kid’s still here.”

He considered saying something, but only for the shortest of moments. Before he could open his mouth, his eyes locked onto something far more important than his own anger. It made him so mad he  _ almost _ forgot about the codenames.

“Joker…”

He took a cautious step forward, blinked and then approached the group, grabbing Akira by the shoulders and glaring at the other two.

“The hell’s your problem?” Ryuji heard himself asking them before turning his head. There was a nasty wound on Akira’s temple, and more, smaller bruises on his cheek and down to his neck.

“You need to get patched up, dude.”

“I’ve been through worse.”

He squeezed the shoulders under partly torn fabric.

“That wasn’t a fuckin’ question.”

Akira’s eyes widened in surprise, but then he chuckled and nodded, sighing weakly. It was a pathetic sight. He was pale, barely conscious, and shaking — maybe from the pain, maybe from exhaustion, maybe both, maybe something entirely different.

It made Ryuji sick either way.

“Time to call Death, it seems.”

He frowned angrily.

“Don’t worry. It’s just another nickname.”

He relaxed a bit, only to shake his head when realization hit him.

“Death? Dude, that’s the  _ worst _ nickname you could give to your goddamn  _ doctor _ .”

Akira ignored him, instead reaching for his pocket, pulling a phone out and dialing a number while nodding towards the door. It was Ryuji’s  _ pleasure _ to follow the suggestion and leave the room, before he could risk getting in trouble with those other guys. He held himself back on saying anything, because Akira was still waiting for  _ whoever it was _ to pick up, but that didn’t mean Ryuji was done with the topic.

Because he so,  _ so _ wasn’t.

“Don’t call me that,” was the first thing he heard Akira say while they headed upstairs. The voice on the other end was like a blur — it sounded feminine, teasing, but that was about as much as Ryuji could make out of it.

“I suppose I could need…,” and for whatever reason, Akira looked over shortly as if asking permission, before finishing the statement. “A general overhaul.”

Ryuji frowned again, buried his hands in his pockets to hide that he was shaking with anger, and followed wordlessly.

_ Don’t say it. Don’t say it. _

He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it in  _ forever _ , but even he had the basic decency not to throw a fit when someone was on the phone.

“Same place as always. They’ll let you in. Don’t worry about that. I…”

Akira looked over again as if asking for something, as if considering.

“I doubt I’m leaving today anyway. Or tomorrow, for that matter. Yes. See you then.”

He ended the call, led them both to his room and locked the door twice — regular lock and a slightly massive latch that Ryuji hadn’t even noticed before; was it new, maybe? He’d be lying if he claimed he’d ever paid attention to the door in general.

“Y’okay?” he asked carefully, aware that the obvious answer was  _ no _ . But Akira never gave obvious or even remotely simple answers, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that he took his time to consider the question, while shedding most of his torn, blood-covered clothes wordlessly and changing into something washed and neat and falling onto the bed.

“I’m fine.”

“Uh, dude. There’s a bloody bandage around your stomach, you’re even paler than usual, and you just locked us in like some sorta paranoid freak. Sorry, but that ain’t my definition of fine.”

He didn’t answer to that, but lifted his arm enough to imply reaching out, while covering his face with the other, laying sprawled on the bed as if he’d just been through a remarkably bad gym session.

Ryuji wished it had been that, really.

He did get the hint though, took cautious steps towards the bed and reached out as well, just enough for their fingertips to touch. He knew he didn’t  _ have _ to act so delicately, but something told him there was a rather concrete reason for Akira to give in to his demand to  _ get patched up _ , and he wasn’t going to risk abusing this sort of vulnerable trust.

Apparently, though, he was overthinking things, because he felt thin fingers wrap around his wrist quickly, pulling him forward and causing him to fall onto the soft mattress as well.

Akira let out a short, amused snort before pulling again, now as if giving an order.

Ryuji did get the hint, but still hesitated. The body next to his was nothing short of  _ sore _ , and if possible, he didn’t want to hurt Akira even more.

“You should get some rest, man.”

“Sure. And you should, you know…”

There was something cautiously teasing in his voice, something weirdly experimental, something  _ curious _ .

“Let me rest in your arms.”

He didn’t even  _ blink _ while saying that, didn’t seem to find it even the slightest bit excessive. There was the faint hint of a scowl on his forehead, a thin smile on his lips. His eyes were half-lidded, arguably due to exhaustion. He seemed extremely done with everything in the world.

Everything but  _ this. _

Ryuji had a feeling, like a hunch, that the further he got pulled into all of this, the more he would regret it one day. It was like some sort of intuition, his mind trying to keep him from doing something stupid. His thoughts continuously raced around the fact that the person next to him wasn’t your friendly next-door buddy neighbor, and could very well still end up being dangerous to him.

And yet, Ryuji didn’t have it in himself to resist. If he were to have regrets, he decided that they would be his future self’s problem for the moment. That wasn’t exactly the best way to deal with things, he knew, but how much of a choice did he have?

So he gave in, banned all the doubts out of his mind and nodded. The reaction came immediately — Akira inched in closer, seemingly trying to  _ bury _ his face in the crook of Ryuji’s neck, as if hiding from something, from some _ one _ .

“I missed you,” Akira admitted nonchalantly, humming at the comfort. It wasn’t very  _ like _ him, but it was definitely better than his bad moods.

That still didn’t mean that words so honest didn’t catch Ryuji off guard, because they did. Even though his anger was fading into worry, this was not exactly what he had expected to happen today.

“It’d be great if you ever told me what’s up, y’know,” he started, doing his best not to sound accusative. “‘Cause I’d much prefer not having to, uh, worry about you all day.”

Akira hummed in response, sounding questioning, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. Whenever he was bruised, he played it down as if nothing had happened. Even now, he was probably in pain that he wouldn’t admit until it knocked him out.

“I...didn’t expect you to worry. It’s nothing I’m used to.”

That, Ryuji had noticed. Instead of giving half of a shit about Akira’s wellbeing, his wannabe-parents had seemingly just been ordering him around for whatever next mission was on the list.

“You’re lettin’ those guys treat you like a slave. Ain’t like you to take orders.”

“I don’t. Had I wanted to rest, I would’ve done so. But the current matters are important, and I can’t let a few scratches stop me from achieving my goal.”

The goal he had yet to spill even a single word about, at that. What could be so important that it was worth getting hurt, risking one’s life? 

“A few scratches, dude? You’re littered in’em, you got some sorta big wound on your stomach and I ain’t sure if you won’t pass out on me after all. Your self-awareness level is at like...zero or somethin’.”

“I’ve had worse.”

He made it sound like that changed anything for the better, but honestly, it achieved the exact opposite. Ryuji knew Akira’s past had been horrible, but that didn’t make the things he was forcing himself through any better.

“Fine, lemme say it differently: I ain’t gonna watch you destroy yourself. If the past was shit, that’s even more reason to make the present better.”

There was a long, heavy moment of silence. Ryuji knew he’d sounded angrier than intended — worry did that to him, sometimes; he was extremely audible about all his emotions, really. Eventually, though, Akira snorted, shaking his head and leaning in further.

“And you wonder why I’m obsessed with you.”

It wasn’t a question, nothing he wanted or needed an answer to, so Ryuji only sighed and shook his head. He still didn’t understand it, but considering the terrible people Akira usually had around himself, it wasn’t much of a surprise that someone concerned with his health was like some sort of messiah to him.

“Hell, whatever. Y’should sleep — well, no. Actually, y’should take care of that nasty wound on your forehead.”

“Not in the mood.”

“Akira, this ain’t a question of  _ moods _ .”

He didn’t answer and didn’t move. Ryuji didn’t know if he should trust it, or if he should insist of making sure Akira wouldn’t die on him in the middle of the night. Considering he wasn’t in for a fight, he decided to risk it and go for  _ trust _ .

“God damn you, dude. Fine. You better lemme know if you feel worse.”

“I will.”

He didn’t say another word, but seemingly drifted off to sleep after a while. With millions of questions on his mind still waiting to be answered, waiting to be  _ asked,  _ Ryuji sighed soundlessly and allowed himself to follow suit.

 

Foreign noise woke him up later, confusing him momentarily, before he remembered where he was and managed to pin it down as sound coming from the TV. It was still strange, maybe because he couldn’t recall watching TV in quite a while.

“Morning.”

He grunted for a reply and pushed himself into a sitting position in one quick motion. Horrible idea, by the way, because the sun was shining right in his face, blinding him before he was able to close his eyes.

“God, the hell?” he cursed, squinting and trying to make the figure next to himself out. Akira was hunched over, cross-legged with elbows resting on his knees and chin in his hands, staring at whatever was on the news like his life depended on it. Ryuji stared for a moment before shifting his gaze over and listening in as well.

To his utter dismay,  _ of course _ it was a crime scene interview with his least favorite detective ever, Goro Akechi, but he said nothing.

_ “...can only describe the crime scene as horrifying, even for the most jaded kind of people. There’s currently no way for us to identify the person behind it.” _

The scene shifted to a police lieutenant, apparently, who seemingly disagreed.

_ “So far, our investigations suggest the involvement of the serial killer known as the Trickster. We have yet to—” _

“This is hysterical.”

Thrown off guard, Ryuji blinked rapidly and looked over to Akira. There was something like anger on his face, maybe even worry. The words didn’t mean much to Ryuji personally — he’d heard of the Trickster, sure. The whole case was in the media from time to time, but considering the discourse on the crimes he may or may not have committed, it was a difficult topic to follow.

“I kinda don’t get it?” Ryuji admitted carefully, finally causing Akira to tear his eyes from the TV and look over.

“Didn’t you hear this?  _ Rape-murder _ . That’s an awful accusation.”

“Uh, yeah. We’re talkin’ about a cold-blooded serial killer here, in case I didn’t miss anythin’.”

He shook his head and buried his head between his arms and knees — it didn’t look very comfortable, in all honesty, but he kept the position, as if he were hiding.

“They’re lying.”

A loud groan and a deep sigh later, he stretched his legs on the bed, a scowl on his face.

“I understand I’m not the ideal person to plea innocence, but you don’t think  _ this _ lowly of me, do you?”

There was a long, heavy moment of silence, which Ryuji appreciated, because it gave him the time to make absolutely sure he wasn’t misunderstanding this. Then, after a breath that failed to calm him down in any way, he spoke quietly.

“Can’t tell ya what I’m more surprised about. That you’re some publicly known serial killer, or the fact that you expected me to be aware of that.”

“You…? Oh.”

_ Oh _ indeed.

“I suppose it’s a good thing they add one or the other wrong case to my file, though.”

“Are you ever not all business, man?”

“Not my fault you slept in. I was bored.”

Rolling his eyes, Ryuji decided not to ask if he was suddenly some sort of unpaid entertainer, and instead gave into the hug he felt himself pulled into. It was more comfortable than he’d risk saying out loud.

“So, what about your doctor’s appointment? Or, y’know, a change of clothes and bandaging?”

Instead of answering, Akira made a moody  _ meh _ sound and shook his head against Ryuji’s neck. It didn’t help anything, but it also didn’t sound like it wasn’t happening, so he left it at that.

“Fine. Anythin’ else you wanna do?”

“You.”

He barely managed to take a sharp breath before the chuckle against his skin stopped him.

“Relax, I’m kidding...mostly. Anyway, I need to make a phone call and I suppose breakfast wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

The way he said it made it seem like a bad idea though. Or maybe it was because he didn’t even pretend to be willing to make a move, instead leaning into the hug further and humming contentedly.

“You sure seem eager to execute that plan.”

“Are you surprised? If the choice is between annoying chores and staying in bed doing nothing, there’s really only one option to pick.”

It was funny, because Ryuji felt the exact opposite. If there were anything worthwhile to do, he’d take that over basically being tied to one place anyday.

Then again, Akira’s chores weren’t really the kind you would want to have to do.

“Alright, how ‘bout this. You can make your stupid phone call from here and I won’t listen in by takin’ care of the food? Gotta move my legs.”

“My hero.”

He rolled his eyes and pulled away to get up and go for it, making sure to be out of the room before Akira had the time to even get his phone. Whoever he was going to talk to, and about whatever, there was a huge possibility Ryuji wouldn’t like it.

He didn’t meet anyone before entering the kitchen, but sitting on the counter next to the cooking isle was the weird artist dude, absentmindedly doodling on something while chewing on dry snacks.

“Uh, Fox, was it? You good there, dude?” Ryuji asked cautiously, although he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer. He had only seen this person for the shortest amounts of time, and that had been enough to scare him off for a lifetime.

“I was hoping to find some more...processed food, but I’m managing well enough.”

That was  _ so _ far away from the question that he didn’t even know what to say to it, so instead he dared a quick peek on the guy’s sketch book. It was a positive surprise, to be honest.

“Oh, hey, didn’t expect’ya to actually be this good.”

“I’ll decide to see that as a compliment, and thank you. Actually, I was wondering — since you seem to be residing here, I’m sure you could spare the time to help me with my studies in the future.”

Studies? What was he getting himself into now? But Ryuji figured it was best not to bring the few non-hostile people against him as well, so he shrugged and searched the fridge for anything he was willing to spend on preparing.

“No idea how I’d help ya, but sure. Ain’t got much to do here, anyway.”

“I appreciate it. Maybe Joker’s taste in people has improved, after all.”

His  _ taste in people _ ?

“Whaddya mean by that?”

He tried to sound nonchalant, tried to focus on making some basic breakfast, tried not to show how desperate he was for any kind of information, but when he dared to look up even just shortly, he saw the pleasant smile on Fox’s face and very well knew he wasn’t being subtle at all.

“I shouldn’t be the one to explain this to you, I feel. Let’s just say he doesn’t always make the smartest choices on who to trust, be it due to naivety or arrogance.”

“He’s a prick, so I’d say it’s the latter.”

At least Akira seemed like someone who’d let people in his life to test how far he could take it. Not always necessarily the best choice.

“It’s interesting you say that, but you still seem to care a lot.”

Ryuji stopped in his tracks and frowned. The problem wasn’t him, so he thought, but the other people in this place not giving half a shit about each other’s well-being. Was he really the weirdo here? Considering none of the people he’d met so far were in any way normal to him, maybe he was.

“I mean,  _ ugh _ . It pisses me off that no one else seems to. Somethin’ tells me things never had to come this far, and that makes me mad.”

There was no denying that, at least lately, wasn’t the only reason he cared, but it was still undoubtedly part of it. Considering Akira was almost docile when not occupied by his missions and blood lust, Ryuji dared to assume that it already had  _ some _ effect.

“You’re not wrong about all this, but it’s not that simple, either. I’m sure you’ll understand with time,” Fox explained after a while, although he didn’t seem entirely assured of his own words either.

They fell silent, and Ryuji took that as his cue to finish the breakfast — it was alright enough, he felt; basic rice with rolled omelette, and he was confident enough in his own ability to drop an extra plate somewhere on the counter next to Fox’s sketchbook.

“Figured you’d want some. See ya some time, I guess.”

He didn’t wait, but heard the equally appreciative and shocked  _ thank you _ on his way out, grinned to himself because he was finally managing to get along with  _ some _ of the people around him, and made his way back up.

Judging by the way he was sitting in the bed, Ryuji couldn’t tell if Akira had moved  _ at all _ in the time he’d been alone. He was still leaning against the headboard, frowning at nothing in particular and lazily drumming on his crossed legs with one hand. He didn’t look up or move in any other way, but he did speak up.

“I hope they left you alone.”

“Huh? Yeah, it’s fine. I met your artist friend. He’s a lil weird, not gonna lie, but doesn’t seem too bad.”

“I’m glad.”

Ryuji placed the food on top of the blanket, already hearing his mom’s voice in his head.

_ Don’t ruin the sheets! _

And himself pleading that he wouldn’t, right before ruining them after all. She’d judge him, scowl, shake her head and sigh in defeat before offering to clean them. In short, she was way too good a person, and he really hoped she was fine.

“You actually…? Thanks, I guess.”

“Well, seems like someone’s gotta take care of you, man.”

They sat in silence, although Akira insisted on snuggling up tp Ryuji. He was  _ especially _ clingy today, but he didn’t seem very willing to talk about the reason. He jumped, even if slightly, when a ringing sound came from the nightstand next to him.

“Already?”

Ryuji hummed questioningly, but didn’t get a reply. Instead, Akira reached for the phone on the table, gave it an angry look and picked up. Whoever it was apparently didn’t even give him the chance to speak before they started babbling loudly.

“I wasn’t going to. No. I’m busy today.”

He looked over very shortly, met Ryuji’s eyes and, for a little moment, seemed like he was desperate for help with whatever this was about, right before frowning angrily again and looking away, now speaking into the phone more sternly.

“I didn’t ask for your  _ permission _ on the matter...it’s not... _ fine _ .”

He hung up without another word, and instinctively, Ryuji’s hand twitched. He’d love to just steal the phone and yeet it out of the window, before locking the door and throwing the key right after it, but he decided to try a better approach.

Better, in this case, equaled  _ insanely pushy. _

They were already side to side, so he could easily wrap his arm around Akira’s shoulder and pull him a little closer — just enough for him to notice, just enough to count as a hug. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but he got an immediate reaction — Akira took a surprised, sharp breath, looked over with furrowed eyebrows and shook his head as if asking what exactly Ryuji was getting at.

“You shouldn’t.”

“I’m not given much of a choice here.”

The reply was quiet, careful, and he raised an eyebrow. So much for not letting anyone enslave him, after all. Instead of doing what he’d said he would — give himself at least a little time to heal, and seeing his doctor about the probably nasty wound he had — Akira was beginning to get up, freezing still when Ryuji reached for his hand.

“Let go.”

“Make me.”

He smiled mischievously, raised an eyebrow and sat back down, crossing his legs and looking incredibly bored again.

“Well, I suppose if  _ that _ is the alternative to leaving, I might change my mind about having a choice.”

Ryuji leaned his head against the wall behind himself, closed his eyes and shook his head, in disbelief over the fact that he actually hadn’t seen this coming. He’d  _ wanted _ to convince Akira to not obey to whoever was trying to give him orders, but why did it always end here—

His eyes flew open when he felt something touch his neck. Soft, warm, wet on one side.  _ Lips. _ Firm, steady, confident on the other.  _ Fingers _ .

“You sure as hell don’t waste any time, do ya?”

“I doubt you expected me to.”

The words vibrated against his ear, hot breath causing goosebumps to run down his arms and spine. He didn’t want to like it, but there was no denying he did. It was comforting, warm, simply  _ nice. _

Maybe that was the reason he chose to give in. Maybe it was the reason he reached out, buried his hand in Akira’s hair and pulled him back just enough to kiss him hard, stopping when he heard a surprised gasp, but leaning back in when lips carefully brushed against his, shyly asking for more.

“This enough reason to stay for now?” he asked silently, proud of his voice not trembling or breaking while he did. Their noses touched when Akira nodded, humming a confirmation and wrapping his arms around Ryuji’s neck to pull him closer.

“It’s enough reason to stay forever.”

There was so much more to those words that they could,  _ should _ figure out one day, but for the moment — with their heartbeats aligning, their bodies so close it felt like melting…

Nothing else mattered.


	13. Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this one didn't even take forever!  
> Guess whose shit-body decided to get sick on the first day of classes. Hah!

They ended up leaving the room only when strictly necessary for the following one and a half days. It was restrictive, in a way, but at the same time relaxing. Ryuji didn’t like the lack of mind-clearing physical activity, but he definitely liked not having to worry about Akira and his shitty wannabe foster parents. When a firm knock on the door broke the lasting silence, Ryuji could hardly keep himself from jumping. 

He looked over, but Akira didn’t seem like he intended to move. His legs were pressed against his upper body, chin resting on his knees, a noticeable pout on his lips.

“You, uh, ain’t gonna get this or somethin’?” Ryuji dared to ask, not sure what he was supposed to do. It seemed like a significantly bad idea to let anyone into Akira’s bedroom without his explicit consent, but leaving them to wait outside didn’t sound like the ideal choice either.

“Meh,” was the only thing Akira offered as a reply, still not moving an inch from where he was leaning against the headboard.

“You want me to do it?”

“Not really.”

He finally stretched and got up with a long sigh, making his way to the door painfully slowly, as if waiting for someone to announce he could actually go back to bed instead of opening up. It didn’t happen, obviously, so he ended up finally letting the — immensely patient — person in.

“Did you fall asleep on the way?”

The woman entering was expressive, to say the least. Her fashion sense reminded Ryuji of everything  _ except _ a doctor, let alone her whole presence, the way she talked, how she strutted into the room as if she were born to rule the place — and yet he didn’t doubt for a second that she was the one he’d heard on the phone.

It sent a cold shiver down his spine, and suddenly, he was incredibly glad he’d chosen to abandon the bed in favor of the chair next to the desk, from where he could watch those two intimidating presences try and overpower each other.

“No,” Akira replied while letting her pass him by. “I just wasn’t sure if I’m  _ really _ willing to let you in yet.”

“Heartbreaking.”

Needless to say, she sounded  _ anything _ but heartbroken. She gave Ryuji a short look before deciding to sit on the table, crossing her legs and dropping her bag on the floor. Something told him he was now going to find out, first-handedly, why Akira had dreaded this meeting so much.

“Sure ain’t the kinda person I expected,” Ryuji admitted quietly, but without judgment, slowly increasing the distance between himself and the woman he only knew as  _ Death _ . If there was any ideal way to get to know someone, this was most likely the exact opposite of it.

He watched Akira lean against the door, pretending to be relaxed, but nails digging through the fabric of his sleeves. It wasn’t a big gesture, but Ryuji had seen it often enough by now to understand — someone was going to get hurt here, and it was up to Akira’s self-control to decide who it would be.

“Likewise,” Death started slowly. “I wasn’t expecting any curious spectators.”

She didn’t look at Ryuji while saying that, but instead raised an eyebrow in Akira’s direction. He didn’t bow to it, didn’t look away or even react, just kept staring at her with crossed arms and an expression as unreadable as could be.

“I’d prefer if we got this over with quickly,” he proposed and pushed himself off the door. Ryuji agreed, although part of him would prefer it even more if he didn’t have to be here — while at the same time, he wasn’t sure if that would result in any casualties if he left now.

“Alright then,” Death seemingly agreed, but without getting up from her position. “I guess it’s time to budge, blondie.”

“He’s staying.”

She, alongside Ryuji, stared at Akira in utter confusion.

“Oh? That’s new.”

“What’s it to you?”

Instead of answering, she finally got up and picked the bag with whatever she had brought from the floor, lifting it on the table. Ryuji was glad it had been decided for him to stay, because he honestly wouldn’t have known if leaving would have been the better choice. As things were, though, Akira seemed to want him around, so that was what would happen.

“I need the wound across my ribs properly bandaged,” Akira started while picking clothes from his wardrobe. From the looks of it, he was trying to keep his hands busy to hide his nervousness.

“I suppose a general vitality and blood value check would be clever as well. I’m also out of...you know.”

“Lucky you,” Death answered, in a tone so sweet it sent a shiver down Ryuji’s spine. “Since you avoided me for such a long time, I figured there’d be more than one reason for you to call so  _ urgently _ all out of sudden.”

Their dialogue was starting to get cryptic, and he was still busy trying to figure out what exactly Akira was talking about. Ran out of…? Best case scenario, it was some sort of simple sleeping pills. Worst case scenario...yeah, Ryuji didn’t want to  _ try _ and come up with something here. Instead, he tried to shut his mind up and keep his eyes on what was happening. Partly to make sure Akira wouldn’t suddenly go on a killing spree because of his mental instability, partly to first-handedly confirm that he was  _ actually _ getting some proper treatment for his wounds.

It was awkward to watch, if nothing else. Seeing Akira’s reluctance about how vulnerable and defenseless the simple act of undressing seemed to make him. Of course it was way more than that for him, and somehow, that made it even more unpleasant to see. His wound turned out to look less bad now, because it was both clean and also in the process of healing, but that didn’t mean it looked  _ good _ — because it  _ didn’t _ .

“Sometimes, I wonder how you get these specifically nasty wounds,” Death said in a sing-song voice, as if she were talking about the weather, or a sport’s news report. “This looks like the skin was partly torn off with a nail.”

“It was a hook, but I doubt it changes the result.”

Ryuji cringed, both at the way they talked about it as if it were casual talk, and the mental picture itself.

“Y’ain’t got any kinda self-respect, do ya? You should take your injuries a lil more serious, y’know?”

“The wound was closed quickly, with little blood loss, including disinfection. Heat sure does wonders.”

He cringed harder at that, shook his head and averted his gaze, telling himself to just accept that there was simply no getting through to Akira about these things.

Eventually, the whole procedure of bandaging as well as blood value check didn’t take too long. Unsurprisingly, especially the latter wasn’t very promising, which was probably to be expected after multiple cases of severe blood loss and, thinking about it now, weight loss as well.

“I’m not going to waste my time trying to tell you what to do,” Death said while cleaning and disinfecting her tools and putting them into her bag one after another. “But if you don’t want to end up dying miserably to your body giving in at the worst moment, you might consider thinking it over before biting off more than you can chew. At least for a while.”

“Sure. Thanks for the concern.”

She smiled devilishly, shook her head and tossed something in Akira’s direction. Small pack of...well, something.

“It’ll cost you, though.”

“Queen will take care of it as soon as possible.”

She snorted, sighed and turned to leave.

“Make sure not to break your newest toy, my little guinea pig.”

Without waiting for either of them to say something, she left, closing the door behind herself quietly. For an agonizingly long moment, nothing happened. Ryuji wondered if he should say something, but couldn’t come up with anything appropriate. He heard Akira breathe in sharply, watched him move over to the door, lock it twice and lean his head against it.

“Why are the people around you so horrible?” Ryuji finally decided on asking. There were exceptions to that rule, but it was still concerning.

“It takes bad people to deal with bad people, Ryuji. That’s kind of the catch.”

“Ugh, bullshit. D’you at least feel any better now?”

Instead of answering, Akira shook his head slightly, turned away from the door and buried himself in an oversized sweater — on top of the thick sweatshirt he was already wearing. It looked goofy, but it was sad, in a way, how he crawled back into bed, leaned against the headboard and rested his chin on his tucked up legs. Then, so slowly that it looked like his very last resort, he raised one arm and reached out. It was his unique, desperate way of asking for help.

“I’m kinda stupid. Sorry,” Ryuji tried while already getting up to make his way over. Sometimes, it felt like he should best keep a distance, just in case, to make sure not to overstep his boundaries. Then, things like this happened, and he felt like the biggest moron to ever have walked the earth. 

Akira didn’t say anything in return, but shook his head slightly before leaning into the hug he was being pulled into. Ryuji considered staying like that and waiting it out, but eventually figured that it wouldn’t help them at all.

“I woulda dropped it if it were the first time someone said it, but...what’s it with this  _ breaking your toy _ stuff they keep sayin’?”

The high-pitched chuckle coming from Akira caught him off guard. It was as far from amusement as could be, Ryuji knew that much. He accepted the fingers digging into his side desperately, leaned into the nose brushing against his neck, hummed to underline the fact that he  _ really _ wanted an answer to this question.

“It’s...funny,” Akira said after a while without letting go, his voice barely audible. “They make it sound as if it weren’t already too late anyway.”

“For what?”

Instead of answering, he sat up and brought enough distance between them that they could face each other. His mien was unreadable, his posture defensive. He visibly didn’t want to have this conversation, there was no doubt about it.

“I didn’t give it much thought, initially,” he began quietly, frowning deeply. “But the more time marches forward, the more I realize what kind of situation I’ve gotten you into.”

Oh,  _ great. _ So it was a conversation  _ neither _ of them wanted to have. Of course Ryuji knew that they should, though.

“Cool. Care to fill me in? Cause I sure as hell ain’t get a clue what the fuck is going on.”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t  _ wanna _ is what you’re sayin’.”

Akira shrugged, looked away and moved towards the edge of the bed.

“Maybe that, too.”

“Amazin’.”

He didn’t get up, but seemingly considered. Whatever was going on in his twisted mind, his face gave away none of it — he just stared at the table blankly, let a hand run over the blanket slowly, the other buried in his shirt’s hem as if he were desperately fighting for air.

“I brought you here...out of curiosity. I didn’t expect it to go any further than that, but now…”

He eventually did get up, walked around the bed and rummaged around in one of the many drawers of his cabinet. It looked lost, yet coordinated. As if he knew exactly what he was looking for, but didn’t want to actually get it. His movement was a little sluggish, he seemed tired. Now, even more than before, it showed that he was far from his best both mentally and physically, but a break seemed to be the last thing on his mind.

“What’re you up to now? Y’should be gettin’ a whole year’s load’a sleep before gettin’ back to your feet, man.”

“If only time allowed me that.”

Well, if not time, then at least exhaustion wouldn’t take very long to _force_ him to take a break at this point. How far was he going to push himself? Sure, this whole mess was one Ryuji didn’t understand — he mostly didn’t truly _want_ _to_ , either — but even he could see how Akira was reaching for more than he’d eventually be able to carry.

And because he knew where this was going, knew that he would eventually break, Ryuji took a deep breath, shook his head about himself and tried a less angry, most likely more helpful approach.

“Akira?”

Nothing, other than him throwing the shortest look over his shoulder to indicate he was listening.

“If there’s anythin’ I can do, y’know you can just say it, right?”

He flinched this time, sighed shortly and shook his head mechanically, but didn’t say even one word of denial. Of course he knew, but he quite obviously didn’t deem it a good idea. His posture was defensive at best, and he still didn’t turn around, but he’d stopped searching for...whatever it had been, really.

“It’s not...that simple,” he tried to argue, but his shaky voice betrayed how he was trying to be definitive about it.

“Ain’t nothin’ ever simple in this shitty situation, man. No use in gettin’ yourself killed over tryin’ to wrap me in a protective blanket or somethin’. Just spill it already.”

“If you say so.”

His voice was back to collected and steady from one moment to the other, his posture immediately turning to upright, his hands steadying around the drawer key while closing it shut. He made his way over to the desk with…things, lots of things. Sheets, pens, photographs, and Ryuji didn’t need any cue to get back up and follow over. It didn’t even leave him the time to mentally prepare himself for whatever might be coming at him.

Instead of occupying the chair, Akira decided to seat himself on the table next to his belongings — of course he did, because anything else wouldn’t be extra enough to suit him. He piled the photographs up in stacks, all on top of different kinds of newspaper sheets, letters and handwritten...scripts, maybe. It wasn’t decipherable since most of the text was covered. In total, there were six stacks, aligned in an almost perfectionist hexagon. In the middle — without much of a warning, by the way — Akira rammed his pocket knife, blade tip first. Ryuji was too startled by it to even back away, and when he realized what it was, he just sighed and shook his head. Maybe it was good that he could  _ see _ the knife there.

“You...don’t expect me to make somethin’ out of this myself, do ya?”

“No, I…”

Akira’s eyes inspected each of the piles shortly, before he picked the one right at twelve o’clock, and put the photographs in a line over the rest of the sheets. Ryuji took exactly one sharp breath, his eyes locking onto the third out of five pictures. He was sure it was the only one of them needed to understand the situation. There was a young girl leaping off a building, the picture probably caught by a security camera from a higher level of the building. From all he could guess, it looked like a school.

“Who the hell—”

“You asked me why the people helping me have a reason to do so. It didn’t feel like a good idea, but maybe it’s better you understood where their dedications, their decisions and their devotion come from. This was Panther’s best friend in high school. Her name was Shiho.”

“Why did she—”

“There’s a whole stack of information on that — both the press releases and our own deductions and researches. You can decide how much you want to know yourself.”

Without giving him time to argue, Akira put the photographs on top of each other again and reached for the second pile right next to that one. Four photographs this time, all depicting a young woman, maybe somewhere in her mid-twenties or early thirties. Somehow, she looked familiar.

“Queen’s sister. She works as a prosecutor, and she’s currently in charge of multiple cases...including mine.”

“Ouch.”

“That sums it up relatively well.”

The next set of photographs showed a teenager — less than ten years younger than Ryuji himself, for sure. He was unharmed in most of them, but the last one showed him with a nasty bruise to his temple. It seemed like he’d gotten beat up in school, but Ryuji doubted he’d be on this pile in that case.

“You’re going to hiss at that, but...Hanged Man’s adoptive son.”

He  _ did _ hiss. Honestly, if he’d been drinking anything at the moment, he would’ve spit it all out.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’.”

“Dead serious. This file is  _ especially _ interesting, but I’ll spare you of any details other than the word  _ Yakuza _ .”

“I hate how that word doesn’t even give me the creeps anymore. Get on your bad side and you’re probably a ton scarier than those guys.”

This time, Akira hissed, a slim smile on his lips while he reached for the file at 6 o’clock. 

“Very funny.”

“Hey, I know that one!”

It probably shouldn’t make Ryuji so ecstatic, but it was somehow interesting to actually recognize someone in this mash up of different people.

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t — the CEO of the most popular Burger chain throughout the whole country.”

Without any explanation on who he had any ties to, Akira continued on. There was something annoying about how much time he took with the pictures, lining them all up for a single sentence of information, before already putting them back on their respective stack — on the other hand, it meant even just another five seconds that he didn’t run off into a suicide mission, so like hell was Ryuji going to complain about it.

“Ah, this one might ring a bell, too. In case you’re in any kind of way interested in art.”

“Damn, dude. Can’t say I am.”

“Oh well. He’s one of the most influential modern artists around. Hundreds of people visit his exhibitions, no matter where he holds them. He also used to be Fox’s foster parent.”

“Figures.”

Instead of continuing on, Akira kept staring at the last stack of pictures. There were more here — at least ten, maybe fifteen — but the papers underneath lacked any kind of newspaper articles. Most of it were just handwritten scribbles and short notes, it seemed.

“Y’ain’t gonna show that one?”

“I…”

He picked them up and flipped through them slowly, as if they reminded him of something very important. It made him look vulnerable and defenseless. Ryuji wasn’t sure if he liked the sight or hated it.

“I ain’t gonna ask if you’re okay, since I can see you’re not. You wanna talk about that though?”

He needlessly pointed at the photos in Akira’s hands, and for a moment, he seemingly thought about the question, like he wasn’t even sure if he did. Then, he handed them over and reached for the handwritten papers.

The first few images didn’t show much. A cafe of sorts, without any customers filling the booths at the time. The most striking thing about it seemed to be the bright yellow phone on the counter. Then, one picture showed Futaba, first as a child, holding the hand of who seemed to be her mother, then next to a tall man with thin hair, a skeptical look and a funny-looking apron. All of these seemed pretty normal — maybe even like some sort of family pictures.

Then, there was another pic of Futaba and the man, with Futaba clinging onto a very annoyed-looking, entirely out of place Akira, who seemed like he’d rather be anywhere else. Ryuji opened his mouth to exclaim surprise while flipping further, and closed it again when the next picture showed a similar setup — just this time, Akira had an arm around Futaba’s shoulder, and they were both smiling at the camera.

“Out of all the things I didn’t expect…”

“We lived with her...our adoptive father for a pathetically short time before I realized that I would just get them killed by staying. I managed to convince him to keep out of this as long as I reported on myself being alive from time to time. Navi...wasn’t content with that solution.”

“So she just  _ followed _ you into this?”

“Pretty much.”

Other than the first person’s suicide, this information was most likely the hardest to chew. Futaba had never seemed to fit into this situation — she was kind, respectful, and had never treated Ryuji like some sort of state enemy. To learn that she had seemingly chosen this life to support someone she saw as family was...understandable, sure; but that hardly made it better.

“I was supposed to take care of her. Instead, she’s locking herself away for safety.”

With a soft, not at all amused chuckle, Akira looked up and locked eyes with Ryuji for a very long moment, before looking away and shaking his head.

“I’m strikingly good at this  _ caretaking _ -thing.”

“Do it now, then.”

Dead silence. Neither of them moved a muscle or said a word. Then, another chuckle.

“You’re exceptionally funny today, hm?”

“You can joke about this all ya want. If you think it’s too late to care now, then that’s just a cheap excuse so you don’t gotta do it. Fight me about it.”

It wasn‘t meant literally, but for a second there, it actually seemed like Akira would act on the offer and start a fight. Eventually, though, he only got up and headed towards the door, then turned around with a puzzled look on his face. Ryuji only hummed to indicate that he was going to listen to what Akira had to say to him – he wouldn’t  _ initiate _ it though.

“I suppose that lately...you might have had a few better ideas than me.”

It visibly annoyed Akira to admit to that fact. He looked away, pouted and played with a streak of his messy hair. Part of Ryuji wanted to call it cute, but he didn’t really dare.

“Well, go for it,” he tried a more encouraging approach instead, and returned to looking through the photos. At least now he’d have a lot to read whenever he got exceptionally bored – maybe it would even help him understand the people in this place a little better.

“Actually, I, uh.”

“You?”

“I’d prefer you to accompany me. Just in case.”

Even though Akira never clarified on whatever  _ case _ he was referring to, Ryuji simply nodded, put the pictures back on the respective pile, and got up as well. This was a lot more than he’d expected, actually, and he appreciated it a lot.

“We should try and avoid everyone  _ but _ Navi, though.”

“Zero complaints here. You know it.”

It was when they reached the bookshelf that led down to the basement — without encountering anyone, to their shared relief — that Akira stopped again, still looking a bit uncomfortable, although that could be because of the huge clothes he was practically drowning in, the fact that he was wearing his seemingly fake glasses, and the way he hugged himself as if he were freezing.

“I know we weren’t even down there yet,” he said quietly while reaching for the respective book to open the way in what felt like slow-motion. “Still, I think I should…”

“Again, just spill it. I ain’t exactly the person you need to watch your language around. Seriously.”

He hummed and managed a little smile — it even looked genuine, although weak.

“Well then.”

The bookshelf gave way to the staircase calmly, waiting for them to pass through and face at least one demon. Nothing happened for a solid ten seconds, and because  _ patient _ wasn’t exactly Ryuji’s middle name in this kind of situation, he decided to take the first steps in. Maybe as encouragement. Maybe as a statement that there was no going back.

He stopped when arms reached around him and pulled closer, when the familiar warmth of an even breath tickled in his neck, when another melodic hum reached his ears and sent a shiver down his spine.

“Thanks. For bearing with me.”

And because he couldn’t deny that bearing was, in fact, a big part of all of this, of all these adjustments, of all the restrictions and the inconvenience of this entire situation, he found himself nodding. It felt like nothing he could say would help at all, but he decided to do it anyway.

“Yeah...I mean…I’m tryin’.”

Somehow, he found himself smiling at the reply.

“Me too.”


End file.
